#The Stetson Family | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sushirrrry · 5 months

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wrangled

a harry styles one-shot. 14k words. cw: age-gap, sexual content, spitting, spanking, squirting, dirty talk, humiliation kink, coarse language, dom/sub kink

Forte Ranch.

Kettle Falls, Washington.

June Forte is the 24 year old daughter of Travis Forte– the owner of the largest bison ranch in eastern Washington. When she returned home from college, her wishes of becoming a teacher in the area land her with a few different jobs– one that also includes the family business.

It's not lost on her that when she starts noticing that a superbly handsome, older ranch-hand who introduces himself in a deep-posh accent as Harry Styles, that she seems to lose a bit of focus on the picture: make enough money to leave Kettle Falls for good.

But, the older man seems to keep running into her no matter how many times she tries to leave. Maybe, she recognizes, that it isn't a coincidence.

When Harry and June are one day left alone, the tensions are higher than ever. Once June gets a taste, her intuition starts to let her know that maybe seeing the dimples underneath the brim of the Stetson is easier to lean into rather than run from.

He's not letting her run away that easy.

"Goddamnit, Fury– let's go!"

She pulled at the lead; the rope pulled at her hands a bit when the horse continued to stand his ground, obviously more powerful than her.

A quick sigh, a puff of air to move some of the hair off of her face. June couldn't help but groan at the horse's stubbornness that kept him inside the confines of his stall.

She had a lesson in an hour now. Not that it would have been a huge deal— the family that she taught for were very laid back, but her need to follow a schedule made Fury's outburst quite annoying as it would take a bit of time to get him out now.

The horse-riding lessons that she had been giving were supplementing the cash flow through the summer. Next year, she would be starting a position as a teacher at one of the local schools in the area. June had gone to school in Seattle; it was the biggest culture shock for her when she arrived in the big city.

From growing up on the ranch to moving to the big city with just what she could fit in her dad's pick-up–she had loved every moment of it. She loved seeing the way that the traffic built up everywhere in the early mornings, the honking horns, the sleepy travelers in the coffee shops every morning.

It was a learning experience that she had been blessed with. But, in reality, her heart stayed in the eastern mountains; the smell of the fresh air every morning gave her such a high that she hadn't been expecting to miss with her whole heart.

Living on this ranch, in this small town, had been in her heart this whole time. She hadn't recognized how much of her she still had to learn.

When you're young, you want so bad to leave. Then, you see the rest of the world, and you find home so much more appealing. It feels secure, it feels like a place that you can come back to when you're finished exploring.

It's a place to relax. A place to replenish. A place to house your soul.

Now, she say her fighting with her horse who seemed to have the upper-hand.

"Fury, if you don't come on," She rubbed the horse's nose, giving him a look as he tilted up his head quickly. "You're being so stub—"

"Might wanna give him something to entice him."

The sound behind her makes June jump with a fright, a gasp escaping as she had been lost in her own world. There's a man standing on the opposite side of her now, unlocking the gate of the horse stall. She hadn't noticed him before, so she wondered how long he had been standing there watching her struggle with the ropes her hands.

A chestnut mare stands, grunts softly in front of him as he looks back at her. June recognized the man, which didn't seem to happen often. The farm has lots of people coming through, many stay for weeks– months, maybe. The summer months are preparing for the winter; she knew that a lot more came around at this time of the year.

But she recognized him.

There wasn't a person who wouldn't.

The man's accent threw her for a moment– not realizing if she had heard him speak before. She mustn't have, or she'd know the low drawl of a foreign tongue.

But there's a few certain men that have been around for a bit. This man, in particular, she thought. He wears his hair longer, a bit down on his ears. He pushes it back into his Stetson, the chocolate curls have grown every time she sees him closer.

He has a soft scruff along his jawline that was really only visible up close; a white tank top that has seen better days when it was a pure white on the rack. June lets her eyes wander for a moment before she sees that he notices, a hint of pink painting her cheeks as she watches that he seems to go on about his day without another word.

Not to mention: if you stared at him in the heat of the eastern Washington sun, it was entirely too close to see the shade of green that his eyes shone. They practically became translucent at how luminous they became.

June was a bit taken; her hands adjust on the lead as she watched the man throw a bridle over the large mare's nose. He clicked his tongue to get her to follow, the mare following him out of the stall easily. June watched at how easy it was; she knew Fury was a bit hard-headed to begin with, so it couldn't have been that easy no matter what he had said to her.

As the man started walking away just a bit, Fury took a step forward which helped June aid him out of the stall. It threw her for a moment, her body moving forward to help lead the horse where he needed. He followed, though a bit slowly as he shook his head when she pulled in the lead towards the saddling.

"See, told you," The man spoke once again, nodding his head a bit towards his mare, "Men are always enticed by pretty ladies."

He had taken the saddle off of the stand, throwing it over the mare's back. June's eyes stared at the way his muscles popped through the sleeveless shirt, pushing the heavy riding saddle up further on the horses back.

"Going for a ride?" The man spoke again, watching as June hooked Fury up to stand so that he was secured. June hadn't spoken yet, feeling her voice caught in her throat over the way that he had been a bit chatty with her. Her eyes drifted over to him, knowing he had been talking to her again which elicited a response.

She bit her lip, pulling up on the loops of her jeans that hugged around the curve of her hips.

"No, I teach, actually." June commented, brushing down Fury's neck before pushing some of his mane out of his eyes.

The horse chewed a bit, making her smile as his lips tried to nip at her arm. "Have a lesson soon. He's the best with kids, gives them a hard time but it's good for them to learn how to be a bit more assertive. He listens when you're real strict with him, just not well."

"Really all the qualities of a man, huh?" The man smirked; they stood next to each other at the station before June looked over and he had started to move towards her. His hand outreached, his eyes truly on her now as they became closer with each step he took. "Harry Styles."

June swallowed back, her hand moving out towards his as they locked together in a moment. "June Forte. You're a worker here?"

Harry's eyes shift for a moment when he notices the deep blue of her eyes and the familiarity of her generational smile. His tongue flicks out to run over his bottom lip as he lets his eyes drag over her a moment. June squirms under his vision, her breath halted as he takes his hand away and their touch loosens.

"And this is your ranch, I presume." He speaks, his words standing in the air.

June shrugs her shoulders up as if his comment didn't mean much. "Not mine– well, my family's, so technically will be mine or my siblings someday. My dad's dream was to own it, and I guess now he does. Was my grandads, and my great-grandads. He built it, and it's just a family heirloom now. But yeah– we live up there."

Harry's breath baited for a moment, a small scoff of a chuckle leaving his lips as he moved back towards the mare. The mare stomped on the ground, his hand moving to comfort her outburst.

"Guess I don't need to be flirting with the ranch owner's daughter, then. May be a conflict of interest."

June raised a brow at his words, feeling a hotness come across her neck as she moved to throw the big brush through Fury's chestnut coat. She faced away from him now, her head turning to look over her shoulder at the way he continued to smirk at her.

For the first time in a while, June's sharp tongue felt dull. She didn't know what to say as she felt some hair fall into her face as she managed to push the heavy brush through the horse's coat.

"Never been a huge rule follower, though." He followed up, pulling the reins of the tacked horse; he walked backwards out of the barn with his eyes on June– the shape of her body only let his eyes fall down and around her curves.

A soft chuckle came from her lips as she heard the clicking of his tongue, guiding the mare out. "Easy, cowboy." She called back, in a surprising quip, "My ranch, my rules."

"So now you're the boss?" He quipped, "giving me mixed signals, June." Harry paused for a moment, giving her a moment to comeback.

"Let's just say I'm pretty close to the guy in charge." June tilted her head, "But I'd say that flirting with the boss's daughter isn't in your best interest if you want to stick around."

June watched the man quickly bite his lip as if he was stopping himself from another remark.

"We'll see about that one." He called back, his boots crunching on the gravel once again, his eyes staying on her even when leading the large horse out of the barn. "Might be the opposite effect if I'm lucky."

June bit her lip at the thought of him– wondering if he had seen her before. Her legs adjusted just at the thought of his low, raspy voice. She hasn't heard it before, but now all she could hear was his words in the back of her head.

"Hope you find a four-leaf clover out there, gonna need it." June said back, watching as he moved away, a wink flying back at her.

She huffed, looking at her horse before a shake of her head made her feel a bit dizzy.

Maybe it wasn't the head shake that made her feel that way.

***

The following morning, Fury continued to give June quite a time. He was a stubborn horse, but she knew that he trusted her and vice versa. June never felt that she had a problem with him, he had been her horse for over ten years now.

June grew up with horses, riding and watching them was in her blood. She loved riding and watching people become more comfortable as they rode more. It was a pleasure for her to teach young kids to be comfortable and confident while riding, especially when it taught discipline and hard work.

Nothing about riding horses was easy– she continued to learn that the hard way. It took trust, and lots of effort to make sure that the animal underneath you trusted every part of you. The hardest part was putting your life in their hands. But, it was always worth taking that chance.

He kicked a few times, the young girl that she had for the lesson this morning was mostly scared that she was going to fall off. June reassured her that she would hold his lead, but that she needed to be strong.

"When you're scared, he's going to be scared," June tried to reassure her, watching the young girl— her name was Natasha, she was around eleven. "You have to be in control of him, and he's going to respond to you. But we can end the lesson a bit early if you're feeling some nerves— that's okay, too."

Natasha gave June a look; she was unsure, and June could read all over it. However, Natasha pushed through some of her nerves, which led to June eventually letting go of the reins and letting the girl trot some laps around the outside arena space.

"You got it!" She yelled over, staying on the fence, her eyes lighting up at the girl's excitement over her accomplishments of getting the horse to where she wanted him. "Let's loop around one more time, and then bring it back to the center."

June pushed her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. The outside training grounds was a large area of the ranch, covered by trees and small patches of grass. She tucked some hair behind her ear that had fallen out of the messy bun she pulled at the base of her neck.

A small noise caught her attention as she started to make her way to the center of the arena to meet Fury and Natasha. June bit on her lip as she squinted in the early morning sun that was casting over the field down to the bison pasture. The gates had opened, watching the man from earlier in the saddle atop the chestnut mare.

His head turned to check that the smaller bison calves had made their way through to the other side of the fence.

"Shut 'em in!" He yelled, pulling at the reins of his horse before the other ranch-hand pulled at the metal gate on the other side.

The field sat opposite of the smaller training field that had been built for June's benefit; she absolutely loved teaching, loved the elements of getting young riders out on the back of a horse to feel the fresh breeze in their hair. It had been so therapeutic to her growing up when everything felt that it could have fallen apart at any moment— this was her world.

Growing up on the ranch had been a saving grace for her. It was the yin to the yang of the city that she had grown to love. She had never had the opportunity to fall in love with another place like she had with Seattle.

It didn't hurt that these were the kinds of views that she had, either.

June hadn't been paying attention as she heard her name being called; her head whipped around as she watched Fury stomp a few times and start to buck and push the young girl. June watched her expression as she held at the fence, watching the young girl struggle with the large stallion.

"Hold on, Natasha!" June yelled, sitting up on the large fence before she cupped her hands over her mouth, "Pull the reins real hard to the left!"

She could see the fear on the girls face as she tried to brace, tried to do what June had told her to. She wasn't strong enough to manage the horse as her foot slid from the saddle and her body flung to the side and off into the dirt of the ring.

June gasped outwardly with a few curses as she ran towards where the girl was flung off. Fury moved away now that she felt safe enough that she could grab her and move out of the ring. She felt horrible not being to stop it before it started, not reading the language of the horse before it was too late.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" June asked, the young girl sitting up on her elbows as she tried to brush herself off. "You're not hurt, are you? Nothing feels broken?"

She shook her head, the helmet bearing her fall as she seemed to just be a bit more traumatized than hurt. The adrenaline must've been moving through her as they stood up, June helping her as she looked around the ring to notice that the horse had made his way out of the ring through the gate she had opened, ready to lead them out.

"Shit!" June yelled out, her head moving around at an attempt to find the horse that had been trotting away. She tucked the hair behind her ear as she turned to look around.

"I'm so sorry," Natasha started, obviously in shock, "I-I didn't– I got scared."

June turned to the girl, shaking her head profusely. "No, no, sweetie. It's fine– as long as you're okay."

June took Natasha out of the ring, climbing up the fence and over to the grassy knoll. Her hands landed on her hips as she searched around for Fury who had gotten loose.

"Fuck," She whispered under her breath.

She didn't expect him to get so agitated. She hasn't had that happen before, which set her alert on high. Fury was the horse that she trained on, and without him, she couldn't hold onto her lesson schedule.

The next one was in twenty minutes, so she needed to figure out a plan on how to catch him.

The first part of the plan was to find the horse that had seemingly run away and out of the gate. Her attention moved back towards the young girl, who had taken off her helmet and seemed to have calmed down just a bit. She rubbed at her elbow that had a bit of a scratch.

"You head back to barn," She told Natasha, "If you see him, holler really loud for me. I'm going to go to the other fields, see if I can catch him."

The young girl agreed, making her way back down to the barns where her mother had been while she took the lesson. She would tell them what had happened, and to make sure they could catch him if he got around.

June started up towards the bison fields– the ranch handlers had been up there just a few moments prior to the incident, and she may have an idea of where the horse had run to. The property was large, almost three hundred acres of land. But, with the number of trees and wooded miles, it would be harder to catch him than it was with the open spaces.

The Forte ranch was surrounded by mountainous regions, which was good for the bison and the elk that were seemingly farmed in the area. June's family kept bison and yak, which was separate to the ranches out in the southwest. Their ranch was green and grassy, surrounded by lakes and streams with glaciers and chilly mornings.

The summer heat didn't always feel like summer, which was what made the mornings so delightful. It was June's favorite parts about the lifestyle of working outside, she felt like there was so much more to see and so much more to take in. It was her own sense of meditation.

"Hey," June called out to the two men sitting on the fences. "Did you see my horse run by? He threw my rider off and fled, and I didn't really see where he went."

The two men seemingly similar looked at one another before shaking their head, practically ignoring her as they continued to haul a few bales of hay into a truck that was backed up to the fence. "Sorry, hon, no."

June placed her hands in her back pockets before she stared at them for a moment. "Okay, well, he's black. Long white stripe down his nose, kinda pink on the end. His name is Fury, but he doesn't usually respond," She blinked a few times, starting to ramble as she thought for a moment, "Probably why he's being a pain in the ass."

She could tell that the men were seemingly uncaring for her request, so she sniffled out of awkwardness before her boots started to move her to the other end of the field.

A good thirty minutes flew by as she walked along the edges of the property, whistling softly for any sight of where the horse could've gone. The sudden sound of clicking made her head turn towards the wooded area; a strike of fear spooking her as she turned. It wasn't that she feared being on her own, but something about being vulnerable ate away at her.

Her heart instantly dropped as she saw two horses, one ridden and the other being held close by the familiar leather reins. The rider in question familiar as she felt her lips quirk up in a smirk at the look on the man's face. She released the breath she had been holding in.

"Think you're supposed to stay on the horse, not let him run away." The deep voice teased. He had been holding the reins of Fury while riding his own.

"He threw my rider," She told him, "I was trying to make sure that she was okay, and he ran off."

"She was quite young," He commented, obviously seeming a bit worried now. He slowed his horse down, the horse standing in front of June as she went to pet down the mare's nose. It crossed her mind that he had noticed her earlier, possibly been staring. "Was she okay?"

June shrugged, nodding. "No broken bones. Maybe a bit of broken spirit."

"You know what they say," He licked over his lip, "Gotta' get back in the saddle." It was then that a smile broke on his face, which halted her breath at the beauty of it.

She laughed at his dry humor, raising her brows. "They do say that, but I'm going to have to do a bit more training with him. He needs to be better for younger riders."

Harry threw the reins over his horse's head, June caught them in her own grip. She looked back up at him again with a small smile. "I appreciate your help– catching him and all that."

"Pretty good portion of my job," He told her, turning the horse a bit so he could face her better.

June had started to lead the horse back in the direction of where the ring and the barn were before Harry stopped her with his words.

"C'mon, hop on," He told her, shifting in his saddle, "We're almost a mile away. You don't want to have to walk."

June's eyes shifted a bit as she pulled at Fury's lead, walking backwards as she thinks about his request for a moment. It catches her off guard, but she shakes her head.

"I think I can walk," She assures him him with a chuckle. He sways a bit in the saddle as he starts after them, obviously going in the same direction.

"Didn't say you couldn't," He remarks back, June hears his tone and looks back instantly, watching his eyes lay on her. Her stomach dropped at the way his gaze felt; his words playing off the sharpness of his jaw, "Also wasn't looking for an answer, just action."

June eyed him for a moment, almost a stand off from her spot on the ground. She inhaled sharply before she bit the inside of her cheek. She didn't understand the feeling in her chest that had anchored its way down to a bit of heat. The authoritative speaking of his voice made her swallow.

"But what if I wanted to walk?"

June watches the twitch of his face when she denied him– when she didn't do as he asked. When she didn't succumb to his request; which, she was learning was more of a nice way to demand rather than request.

The man slipped off the saddle, moving away from the mare before he was now standing in front of June with her hair pulled from her face. The freckles on her nose were surrounded by a bit of sun-kiss, which the man took as a reward for being so close. His eyes trained in her for a moment before he noticed the hitch in her breath as they were toe to toe.

June subconsciously took a small step back before she felt the touch of his hand on her wrist. Her eyes stayed along the collar of the navy t-shirt that seemed a bit pulled at the collar. While a contrast to the white tank he wore yesterday, this accentuated the bronze of his skin from working out in the summer heat. The warmth of the summer sun has bronzed him, leaving the ink of his arms darker in contrast.

He took a package out of his back pocket, the cigarette between his fingers and dangling from his mouth now as his bright green eyes have a playful lift to them. She watches him teasingly as he lets it dangle from his tongue before placing one on her lip too, waiting for her lip to catch it.

She doesn't tell him that she only smokes when she can't sleep, or when she's stressed out by something her family has said. But she doesn't say anything, just sends him a smirk as they stand toe to toe. His fingers snap the lighter to his, hers next as he takes a draw.

"Anyone looking for you?" His voice was as smooth as leather as he kept his eyes directed to the way her cheeks sunk into breath in the smoke.

"Probably." She responds, drawing her lips between her teeth. She felt the stare down but folded as soon the dimple popped through the right of his cheek. "I have a lesson that should be starting."

He shrugged, "Your horse ran off, nothing you can do."

June went to speak, her head turning towards Fury before Harry looked down the gravel road towards the home– over a mile away like he had mentioned.

Her words got caught in her throat before she can respond, just putting the cigarette up to her lips before she licked her tongue over her bottom lip that had turned into a smile. June bites the inside of her cheek before she looks over Harry who's already moving away from her.

"What're you doing back here?" He asked her, his European accent ringing a bit different, "thought you moved to the city."

Her thoughts ran to the fact that he knew that much about her. She wondered if her dad had mentioned her before, or if he was just paying attention. Either way, her answer to him stayed true.

"I knew I wanted to work my way back here," June told him honestly, "I wanted to work back home. But I need to save some money."

Harry bit his lip as he held the reins of the horse, pulling his over just a bit to start back down the path. It was slow, but it was moving a bit. June knew she was late to her riding session, but she figured it would've been fine anyways– she wasn't going to let her students ride Fury at this point.

"You're young," Harry told her with a chuckle, as if he was trying to explain the world to her, "You've got to explore a bit before moving back home. How do you think I got here?"

June tucked some loose hair behind her ear, "How did you end up here, I mean? It's quite far."

"Five thousand miles, give or take." He tells her, walking alongside her now. They seem to be moving at a slower pace. Either way, Harry knew that he wanted to be next to her.

June took a last draw of her cigarette, throwing it on the gravel. "Way too far for me. I'd miss my family way too much."

Harry flicked the cigarette, the ashes falling a bit before he nodded a few times. "That's because you have a really great family," He looked ahead, chuckling a bit, which June caught before furrowing her brows. "I don't miss my family at all, truthfully. Not much to miss there. So, maybe I just don't get it."

June nodded a few times, understanding the implications and biting her lip at his words. There's silence in the air before she takes in a breath and pressed her lips together then, as if she's trying to find words to help alleviate a pressure that she added in. But, he speaks before she gets a chance to.

"I just think people maybe need to take a few more chances," He says, "Live a little more freely. What's the worst that can happen if you do what you want?"

"Well, most criminals live by that narrative," June tells him, which makes him laugh a little bit at her remarks before she looks at him with the blue eyes that he can't seem to fully grasp could be that color blue.

"Within reason." He adds, and he stops mid step before he watches as she turns to face him at his abrupt stop in the road.

June looks at him, a fluttering feeling in her stomach as his body moves, letting the leather reins go before he stops in front of her again. It's the proximity that sends her thoughts on a tailwind of what could happen next; the adrenaline pushes in her veins as she stares up at him. He's closer now than before, his head has dropped a bit so he can really look at her, but she's acknowledged that, pushing her chin up to make sure she can hear exactly what he's saying.

"Maybe it's the fact that I don't like playing by the rules, though." The smell of the tobacco was filling her nose as they stood so close. His eyes remained deferred from hers, watching the way that the lips and chin were pulling up, almost subconsciously.

"Seems a bit criminal, if you ask me." She teased, tilting her head a bit as she begged him to look at her.

"I mean," He chuckled, letting his fingers move up to her chin as he took it between them to steady her, "It would be criminal to let you beg any longer. Bit pathetic to watch."

"Not begging." She pushed back, pulling her chin away from his grip, which tightened his jaw. She noticed the way that her defiance made him react, which sped her breathing up.

"Tell your body that, sweets," He bit, "I could say anything, and you'll react to it."

He licked over his lips, watching as she tried her best to stay calm, to keep her breath under control. Her lips were pursed, her stance was trying to stand off a bit, but he could see right through her—he saw that she was trying her best to stand on her own but knew that she would fold right then and there.

It was the game that Harry liked, he liked watching how she would react to him when he spoke to her. She was young, practically ten years younger or so, he could assume—she was so impressionable and the fight for dominance was almost sweet. Harry ached as he watched her try to stand him down and his eyes moved to her lips before they drew up to her eyes, watching the ocean waves of blue.

June pulled away, suddenly. She gave him a smirk before she clicked her tongue to have Fury follow her down the road.

"You think you've got me figured out," She called, looking back over her shoulder. "Not going to work with me, cowboy."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, watching her walk away. His eyes fell to the way that she walked, seeing the swing of her hips as a tactic to use against him. But, he did what he needed to do. He followed close behind, watching her every move—the silence in their walk back not lost on him.

"Something enticing?" June teased, noticing the way that his eyes had danced over her curves from behind. Harry's eyes lifted just a bit, settling in her eyes before he sent a wink her way.

The silence on the walk back to the barns felt good; it felt understood. It's why they both smiled to themselves, neither one seeing the other.

***

"You think I can really pull him?" June looked at Shelby, "He's older– I don't know, Shel."

"You aren't even seeing the way he looks at you," Shelby said to her friend, taking a swig of her beer. He's not taken his eyes off of her, and somehow June knows that deep inside of her, but she can't bring herself to look back at him. She's a bit timid like that; a sharp tongue when confronted, but a tail between her legs when she thinks of it.

The next night, June had gone out with her friend, Shelby, for a drink. It wasn't lost on her that the town was small. Most everyone knew each other, which made the Friday nights out on the town hard to avoid people you didn't want to see.

You really needed to want to be there, or you would be seen by someone you didn't want to see. June hadn't even thought of it when they went out, that she could possibly see him there. After their encounter yesterday morning, June had kept her distance. Not in a way that she felt was stand-offish, but in a way that felt like she was trying her best to let him come to her.

Dating and flirting weren't new to her, but the idea of playing this game scared her a bit. He wasn't new to this; they weren't trying to figure this out together like she had experienced in college. He was older than her, he had experience with this game.

It scared her a bit, because she didn't know how to handle herself in this type of situation. She wanted to come across as confident, but she knew that he had the opportunity to make her fold.

"You need to be drunker," Shelby stated, pushing her half-empty beer to her, watching as June wrapped her hands around the bottle. It was warm to the touch, not fresh in the slightest. "Let's go to the bar to get more."

June looked at her friend after downing the rest before she fully understood what that meant for her.

Shelby had gotten up, which made June follow her. The strawberry blonde realized without another second to spare that she had walked into the lion's den– eyes were on her as she approached the countertop bar.

One pair of eyes, specifically.

At first, she hadn't recognized him. Without the hat and the dirt-ridden t-shirt, she saw the way that the denim jacket hugged his back. The curls had a bit of bounce to them, and her mouth felt dry as she tried her best to divert her attention away.

But they were almost arm and arm and she had wondered if he would notice.

Of course he had. The scent of cherries and lime only made sense when his attention turned back towards a person who had brushed against him now. He had seen her across the room as soon as she came in with her short skirt and boots. He noticed the way that her waist dipped in with the form-fitting top and the slight curl to her hair.

He sat with his beer in his hand, a rowdy few friends were next to him as he kept his attention on her. June felt heat down her neck as she tried to ignore the staring but started to enjoy the feeling of being seen.

"Two whiskey sours," Shelby leaned across the bar to ask for before June looked at her with confusion, knowing that adding a bit of liquor in the mix would either make it better or worse—she didn't know. Her friend smirked at her, watching the bartender start to assemble their drinks.

June kept to herself for a moment before she heard a stealthy voice next to her. The jolt of her head towards him even surprised her as she licked over her lips at the way that he was looking at her.

"You following me, doll?"

June scoffed; her sharp tongue ready. "You don't think I have better things to do?" She quirked her eyebrow at him; feeling the closeness of them as she stood, and he sat on the barstool under the dim light of the grungy pub.

"No," He shook his head, taking a sip from his bottle before he turned to face her now. She was practically between his legs, his knees on either side of her as she stood closer to him than she thought. "I don't think you do."

He looked the same as he had yesterday morning; he was clean shaven on his cheeks, a bit of scruff on his lip and a twinkle in his eye that was undeniable among the green. A denim jacket covering his shoulders and tattooed arms that were on such display this morning. The hair sat longer on top of his head, just enough to add the definitive addition of chocolate curls.

June could barely look at him without her knees buckling at the bar top. But she took the drink from the bartender with confidence, trying to anchor herself.

"Well, you're wrong." June tells him, taking ahold of the cocktail before taking a sip and trying to play hard to get. A game she knew– a game she played far too often.

Harry watched the way she popped her hip, knowing she did it on purpose.

"I'm never wrong," He bit back, still playful. His eyes met June's, and she didn't dare look away. "So, try again."

June cleared her throat, standing against the bar as she let a breath out. What she hadn't anticipated was the way that his bent knee fell behind her own, pulling her closer between his legs at the busy bar.

June went to speak, a small gasp leaving her lips as she placed her hand on his shoulder as she lost a bit of balance. Her hair fell into his face as she felt herself push away. The smirk on his face only made her blush as she pushed off from him.

"Go on," He urged, "Try again."

She raised her eyebrows, noticing her hand still placed on his shoulder. "What if," She cleared her throat, "It's you who is following me?"

Harry took a sip of his beer, lazily, eyes staying on June as he shook his head softly.

" 'Course I am," He bit his lip, "Who wouldn't?"

His honesty came across, making her feel a bit speechless when she looked at him. She downed a good amount of the whiskey drink quickly, knowing that the quicker it went down, the quicker she'd feel it.

"Looks like what I said about criminal activity seems to be true," She let the straw of the drink rest on her tongue as she looked at him, "You're a bit no good."

"Never denied it," He downed a bit more of his drink before he raised his brow at her, "But you keep coming back, don't you?"

Her tongue rested on the straw, playing with it a little bit as she felt the flirtatious spirit running through her. The cat and the mouse were at their height, now.

"Just gathering all the facts on why I should stay away," She told him, pushing her hair back off of her shoulder. The small top only leaving little to the imagination; Harry tried to hold it together as he swallowed dryly.

"How's that working out for you?" He asked, his hand making its way to her hip as he pulled her a bit closer. June took a step, finding her balance as she stared at him for a moment. He knew the look on her face as he had seen that look a few times before.

A part of him felt the words deeper, which initiated him to reach for his wallet.

"Mind if you let me drive you home?" His voice was thick with a dry, hoarseness that only solidified her position backing into his lap.

June practically melted at his touch, his hand on her hip as she nodded a few times before turning towards him then.

"Don't think that should be a problem." She muttered over the music playing across the bar.

June's eyes found Shelby who was standing at the bar, just a few people over before she winked at them. She moved away, just so that Harry could stand on his feet as she watched the man throw a fifty down on the counter to cover the drinks.

"Drinking fifty dollars' worth and then driving me home?" Her attention turned towards the man as he gave her a lazy smile. "Feels a bit dangerous to get in the car with a drunk stranger."

"Feel like it's my job to pay for you too if I'm getting you to leave your friend to come spend time with me, hm?" Harry walked backwards a bit, reaching for her hand before they reached the door to the bar. "You looked like you were having a good time. But I got something to show you."

Her hand fit into his, her breathing escalating just a bit at the way that he maneuvered her grip, making his stronger instantly as he led them back to the Ford pickup he sport around town.

"I was having a good time," She tells him with a bit of a flirty essence, one that held a bit of attitude as far as he was concerned, "And now you're taking me from it. Wherever you're taking me must be pretty good."

Harry bit on his lip as he sniffles, scrunching his nose at her comment. Her comment only pressing his buttons.

"I'd apologize but I don't know if I'm sorry." He commented, cocking his head.

"You'll only have to apologize if I'm left disappointed–"

When they reached the blue pick-up, his hands instantly grabbed at her hips. They pushed her body into the iron to hold her captive against the side of the truck. It wasn't hard enough to hurt her, but hard enough to ground her. She hoped there'd be a small amount of pain as a reminder of the moment.

"You're not gonna question me, are you?" He asked her with the softest voice; the threat in his tone only heightened her senses as she flinched at the way he spoke.

The inside of her thighs fluttered at his growl of a voice. "N-No," June answered, "No, no, never."

His lips brushed against the side of her ear, pulling his body away from her just for a moment before he nodded and found the moment to understand her.

"Good girl," He praised, moving his hands upwards to her waist. The slim part of her torso melted into a perfect hourglass figure. Her hips were wide and held his sight, but his hands loved the feeling of the curve.

June's breath halted at the way that he held her– at first with a physical grip so tight, and then an invisible string of persistence.

The small pub rested just on the outskirts, in the mountains, but just far enough from the ranch. The radio played lightly; the windows were rolled down as the horizon line were just baring a bit of light.

Harry had driven the truck up to one of the horse barns that sat just close to June's guest house, where she had been staying. It was a bit further on the property, but she drove past it almost every day.

"What are we doing here?" She questioned him before he opened the door. He went to the other side to help her out, taking her hand as she jumped down. He had taken her waist in his hands to help her, the touch of him on her was enough to make her breathing hitch.

"Have something to show you, I told you." He said, taking her hand in his as he led her back up to the darkened barn. When they arrived at the open door, he flickered on a switch that gave the large space a bit of light.

When they both walked into the small barn, the only lights were overhead, the sound of the crickets chirping filled the silence. June followed Harry's lead before she noticed that they stopped at the stall at the end of the row, down closer to the tack room.

"Here we are," Harry nodded, leaning his arms on the side of the stall gate. When June turned towards the mother horse and baby that were laying on the ground before them. She felt her heart melt at the sight of the small, brown foal that had two white spots on the top of its forehead.

"Oh my god," She gasped, watching as Harry smiled at her surprise. "Aren't they the sweetest thing?"

"He was born this morning," Harry leaned against the gate, watching the two horses on the ground before he turned back to June. The mare simply in awe of the small baby, seemingly tired as she laid next to him. "Needs a name."

"The ranch has a history of naming them after the stars, you know," June tells him, walking over to the little foal. His legs tucked under him, two bright white spots perfectly in the middle of his forehead.

June leans down a bit, hesitant not to scare him. Her hand reaches out to pet the small foal before she runs over hand over the white spots.

"Well, mum is Forager of Stardust," He tells her, keeping against the gate with his arms crossed, "So, we'll keep it in the family."

June starts to giggle as she turns back to Harry, eyes wide, "Ziggy Stardust– hands down, has to be."

"Ziggy Stardust? Alright, then. Sounds like a perfect name to me." Harry questions with a laugh; his smile becoming a bit more than the typical lazy one he likes to sport. June noticed that the crinkles by his eyes were a bit more defined, her nods insinuating her answer.

June turned back to the little foal before watching as his dark brown eyes blinked a few times with the lashes so long and fluttered. Her heart was built from the small creatures around the farm, the life that had been put into this lifestyle.

It reminded her of the sweetness; the parts of her life that continued to only get better the older she got and the more she enjoyed the peacefulness of simplicity.

This was it– this was the simplicity she craved. The rebirth, the gentle touches that reminded her of what life really was all about. She loved watching the ranch run on its own, watching as it grew everyday with small details.

Harry had moved towards a bale of hay that sat in the corner, taking a seat on it as he leaned against the stable wall. He watched June nuzzling the foal before she turned her head towards him again. He gave her a tilted smirk, dimple pressing into his cheek as he watched the nurturing love that nestled out of her.

"Did you grow up on a farm?" She asked, looking back at him before standing up from her spot. She managed to make her way through the tall stable hay before taking a seat on the bale with him. The small spot was snug, but neither of them seemed to mind.

"I did," He nodded a few times, "But it was a lot different. Sheep and goat, mostly. England is also a bit flatter, so it was a lot easier to ride than it is here. But I just figured that this would be a bit of an adventure."

"Think you made a good choice?" June asked, crossing her arms as her legs settled straight out just like his.

Harry raised his brows before he felt that he couldn't stop himself from smiling all the sudden. He wanted to believe that the few beers had something to do with it, hours ago now, but he knew that it wasn't. His eyes were downcast as he started to nod a few times.

"The views here are incredible." He answered, looking up at her, "But the scenery around here is good, too."

June nodded a few times, sniffling.

Harry decided to return the question, looking back at her. "Do you think you made the right choice coming back home? Assuming you liked the city, I guess."

June shrugged her shoulders, knowing that being home was always difficult in some capacity. She loved her family, loved the ease of being able to go places and knowing exactly what to expect. Home seemed to be a place that was easily accessible to her, all the time. Her family would always bring her back—she always knew that she could lean on them without an issue or judgement of feeling pressured to leave.

"I think I made the right choice to come home and to do what feels easy right now," She nodded a few times, "I think coming home from college is scary because you're like," She shrugged, "You feel like you don't have a direction anymore. You're in school practically your whole life—it's all you know. And then to think that you could go somewhere else and live a new life after that. It's just a lot. They're letting me stay in the guesthouse until I can get my bearings."

Harry understood, to some degree. But he was the opposite—if it wasn't new, it wasn't exciting. He wanted to see new things and to not see the same view twice. It meant that you weren't settled, even though the idea of settling wasn't bad. It was just different.

"It's probably good to know that you have a space in the world somewhere," He agreed, settling a bit, "I understand that. I didn't go to college, but I get that you want to feel like you're... you. And you're not having to reintroduce yourself to a new place or new people."

"My family knows exactly who I am," She smiled, "And that's what I want right now."

That was the truth—June wanted to just stay here until she was able to get her own place, maybe down the road. She could have the best of both worlds—one day she'd be able to live on her own, but still be able to stay connected to the place that felt so close to her heart. Teaching riding lessons was her only income, but it helped pay her loans and aided in her weekend ventures with her friends, specifically Shelby.

There wasn't much more she could have wanted now. Happiness seemed to manifest itself in the little things.

But, of course, after the small incident with Fury yesterday morning, she didn't know that she would have been able to trust him. It felt that there was more she could do about it, but she knew that his outbursts had been due to her lack of maintaining his trust and boundaries. He was also just an asshole half the time, and it wasn't something that she could put up with if he continued.

June sighed a bit, thinking of it when she noticed that Harry had taken interest in her sudden displeasure.

"What's wrong?" He asked. She blinked a few times, watching as he seemed to understand that her sigh was of annoyance.

"Well, I'm not going to be able to give anymore lessons until I can get Fury figured out," She shook her head, watching the man as he listened to her quandary. "I have to get him straightened out or I'll have to get another horse ready just to train on, and work with Fury until then."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek as he let his eyes move to the side, seeing if he would get the reaction he was looking for.

"Bet you're a real good rider, huh?" He teased, poking his tongue into the side of his cheek as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Probably give good lessons, too."

June pulled her lips into her mouth to keep from the smirk that was approaching, but she rolled her eyes instead. "What a line."

"I'm just asking!" He lifted his hands in defense as he chuckled out a bit, "Was maybe looking into some lessons to help you out."

Their outstretched legs bumped into one another as she pulled at bent knee up to hug into her chest. "I charge a hefty fee."

Harry shrugged, running his hand through his hair. The unruly curls were a bit out of control as he sniffled gently at the way that the hay tickled his nose. "I'll pay up-front."

June shifted her jaw as she licked over her lips. It was a bit dangerous, this game that they were playing. But she had an idea in her brain that she was going to take his advice.

What was the worst that could happen?

She sat up, back straight. Her eyes were downcast as she looked over at him, then. He didn't know how to respond to her stare before he felt the way that she pushed her knee over his lap. Her hands steadily placing on his shoulder as he looked up at her with a smirk that said all of the words that she desperately needed to hear.

"Alright, then," She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, "Let me give you a lesson or two, cowboy." Her hips sank into his pelvis, pushing gently with the added pressure as she took a seat like he had inquired for.

Harry sat up a bit straighter, watching as she straightened up, too. Her skirt flowed over her thighs as he let his hands place on the outside of her hip for helping her balance. A smirk coated her blushing cheeks as she tucked her hair behind her ear in a nervous habit.

"I'm already learning so much," He teased her, waiting for her to make another move. She thought she may have a grasp on how to approach him but became nervous as she started to take charge. It was evident to him as she settled into his lap, but he loved the initiative.

They faced one another and she bit her lip at the way that he talked to her. He paid attention to her, let his hands get to know her before he pressed further.

"Dare you to kiss me, though." He said to her, watching as she gave him a look of confusion. She chuckled at him, as she shook her head, but he just smirked, "No one can pass up a dare."

She did exactly as he had dared, pressing down so their lips met. It was like finding water in the desert as she immediately pushed forward, needing more as soon as she got a taste. Her hips rolled at the feeling of his hand making its way to the back of her neck, almost like he was guiding her closer. He was showing her what she needed without words.

The kiss allowed him to press his tongue into her mouth which elicit a whimper from her, his cock straining underneath the jeans that she had been pressing on. He followed, letting his own whimper strain out at the thought of her pressed against him. The skirt not allowing anything between them except the panties he imagined she'd have on.

Deepening the kiss, he pulled her hips forward just enough that he was allowing her hips to ride into him. The coolness of his belt made her shiver, her thighs immediately reacting to the touch.

"You wanna let me take the reins?" He offered, his voice deep and raw as he felt the closeness of them. Her back arched into him, his words giving her a break as she nodded fervently.

"Please?" She asked, practically pleading.

It didn't take any longer before he threw his arm around her, picking her up into his lap as he found the grounding of his feet. Swiftly, he held her up on his waist as she wrapped her legs around his middle, holding on as they pressed their way through the barn.

The small tack closet next to the stable was the closest they got before he threw open the door and led them in.

Harry threw her on the table, letting her sit as he continued to let his lips fall over her again and again. With her help, his hands pulled the denim off of his arms and back, pieces of clothing seem to fall off easily.

He gently allowed his hand to move to the inside of her thigh, pressing down a bit to gauge her reaction.

Her skin was hot, his eyes were down as he guided his hand to the place that she needed him most.

"Please, please," She continued to plead, his ears ringing from the way that she needed. It was so innocent and cute, almost like she hadn't any idea how badly he could wreck her.

"Turn around." He demanded, pulling away just enough to give her room to move. When she didn't, all he saw was a deer in headlights, watching him for a moment like she didn't know what he was asking of her. She swallowed, licking over her lips as she got to her feet.

Her slow movement initiated him to grab her by the hips to turn her around quickly. His hand pressed on her back, pushing her to her elbows on the deck of the tack room.

"When was the last time you were fucked?"

Her throat was tight just at the words that left his mouth; her breathing racing as she anticipated the quickness of this. She had been waiting for it; hoping he'd understand she had been quietly asking for this.

"Been a while," She answered breathlessly, her legs pushed apart as he stood behind her. The flow of the skirt barely covered over her ass before he pushed it up to reveal it all. "N-Not that long."

His eyes grew three sizes larger as he took in the detail of the black lace that lay over her milky skin.

Harry pulled himself down, letting his knees sink to the ground. His eyes were level with the lace as he quickly let his fingers rest on the waistband, pulling them off of her and down her thighs.

She gasped at the feeling, his eyes never leaving.

"Goddamn," He commented, his thumb pressing softly into her. She jerked forward at the initial contact, eyes shutting as she leaned into his touch. "Knew it," He chuckled, "Knew you'd get yourself wet for me."

His thumb moved out slowly, her reaction exactly what he wanted. She pulled back with him, wanting to be filled– he knew exactly where he needed to get her.

"Needy," He berate, his words having a bit of edge. Her eyes flickered open as she gasped at the feeling of his hand slapping the harness of her skin. His thumb removed as he spanked her again, lurching her forward. "So fucking greedy."

Her knees trembled at the feeling, left untouched as he stood behind her. The sound of his belt made her eyes shut as he undid the button on his jeans and smirked at the way she settled underneath him.

"Don't mind that we don't have a condom, right?" He asked, his hand moving to the reddened spot on her skin that she ached took feel again. He smirked, knowing the words he would say would only make her a bit restless. "Can wait if you really need me to."

Her head turned around, her lips a bit raw from where she had been nibbling on it.

"No," She shook her head, "No– no. I'm safe, we're okay." She pleaded, and his smirked lifted at her neediness.

His hands pulled on her hips to arch just a bit for him. June quickly felt the teasing way his tip pressed against her soaked cunt, her hands turned white knuckled as she gripped tightly onto the wood. It was just the feeling alone– she hadn't even seen him, but her anticipation was high.

"Just letting you know," He pressed the tip right into the softness between her, giving her a sensation of euphoria just from how turned on she had been. She let out a moan, her eyes shutting. "We play by my rules. When I say down, you go down. When I say suck, you suck. No backtalking. I'm giving you the best fuck of your life, so you listen to me to get what I know you want. Got it?"

He hadn't even given her a reason to moan, her words caught in her throat as she nodded with. A subtle whimper— the strawberry blonde hair flinging over her shoulder as he moved it away. His lips found their home on the back of her neck, sucking gently at the skin.

"You're going to be such a good girl, though, aren't you? You would never disobey me, huh?" He cooed; his lips continued to ravish at her hair line as she threw her head back in an ache to feel the pleasure he was offering.

June's hips moved back gently, but his hands gripped at her before she could push herself onto him. The slight action gave him a sense of power; his hand smacking onto the curve of her.

The cracking sound familiar to one of a whip— she gasped at the feeling, her eyes closing shut just at the pain that radiated in such a burning sensation.

"Fuck," She whispered, knowing that she was simply dripping at the need. She had never been in a position of such need— she had never needed someone to give her what she needed in such a way that it brought tears to her eyes just to think about it. "I-I'm sorry— I—"

"I'm not." He stated, his breath hot on her neck. A coolness laying underneath—the metal of the cross hitting at her shoulder when he grabbed her hips towards him. When he pushed in, it took a fluid motion before they both moaned out in pleasure. It was a shock of intensity that Harry had truly never felt before.

Sure, he'd been in this position before— but like this? He had been with beautiful women, seen beautiful things. But the enticing scent of wildflowers and sweet vanilla only flourished as his nose brushed the softness of her shoulder.

Harry tried to keep his composure— trying to follow the red behind his eyes, but suddenly feeling the urge to cum at any moment which made him a bit nervous at the quick build-up. It was exceptionally better than he had expected; he had been more turned-on than he had thought.

His forehead rested on her shoulder blade; the small strap of her tank-top the only small detail that was between his forehead and her skin. Harry bit his lip slightly as he wondered when he would be ready to pull out to continue fucking her into an oblivion that would send her to the stars.

But he felt incredibly, incredibly close to the edge just at the initial feeling of her. He grunted in a bit of frustration as he shook his head to try to clear all the thoughts that had gathered there. The curls of his hair fell into his eyes as he shook his head. His hands kneaded into the fleshy skin that curved over the small skirt that still rested on her thighs. He had just pushed it up enough to give himself access to what he really needed.

Focus, he thought to himself.

"You are so goddamn tight," He watched as her back arched a bit at his words. Her chin turned to the side, just enough where he could now see her side profile. Her eyes were shut, mouth parted in a small, dainty way. "No one's fucked you in a while, have they, darling? You lie to me?"

Harry pulled himself out just a bit, watching where they connected as he felt himself slip back in. The tightness surrounding him made his eyes clamp shut. She felt incredible to him on every level that he couldn't think of anything else that moment.

It was dizzying.

"N-No, not like you— not like this," June muttered. The way that her hands gripped over the table in the tack room was almost pain to her fingertips. "You're so deep, fuck."

The sound of her voice elicits a response of his hips bucking into her, the rasp and grunt of June's voice painted a beautiful picture in his memory.

"You like me deep like that?" Harry licked over his lips, eyes moving down her body as he moved his leg to her thigh. "Pull this up on the table— go on," He urged, "it'll be good for you."

June felt the pat on her thigh, Harry's hands slid the remaining clothes down her legs to leave her completely free on the bottom. He pulled out for a moment to help her lift her leg, balancing herself as she felt suddenly empty without him filling her up.

Watching as she lifted her leg on the table, pushing herself up, Harry dropped to his knees as he took in what he saw. A certain hunger elicits his eyes as he grabbed onto the back of her thighs, spreading them apart. In an instant, she felt the spit on her already dripping cunt as his mouth attached to her almost like it was made for his lips to wrap around.

Her head drew back at the feeling of his mouth on her, the knot in her stomach was undoubtedly loosening as she felt the nudge of his tongue against her clit; the feeling of his nose gracing her. In the last twenty-four years, she had never been blessed with a partner that would have given her the opportunity to feel this way. She had never been with an older man before, either.

Maybe her innocence had been brushed away by the complete raging needs of his wandering hands.

Either way, she didn't know if she could get any better than this. The softness of his tongue with a stiff edge and control, the scruff of his upper lip taunting her as he spread her thighs further apart while his mouth took her from behind.

"Could ruin you in so many ways." Harry hummed, his tongue dripping from her arousal that coated it. "You want me to ruin you, doll?"

Her hair fell into her face as she nodded fervently, her hand pushing the locks away as she tried to catch a glimpse of him but leaned forward instead.

"Yes— I want you to ruin me, please." Her voice was a shy, timid tone but it held all of the power of her needs. He knew exactly what she needed, and he would gladly give her every bit of it.

Harry immediately felt the words go straight to his cock; the feeling of arousal only tempting him further and further. What was it about this girl that gave him such an issue? He hadn't always been so easy to please, but something about the way that she moved her hips, her small movements only made him want to be rougher.

A girl that didn't know what she wanted was always the best— it was the moment when she found exactly what she was looking for, but never knew how to express it that made him cum the hardest. Harry wanted to push every ounce of her until she was begging for it.

June lurched forward just a bit as he stood back up from his position, moving to enter her once again. The slickness of his spit mixed with her arousal created the perfect lubrication that guided his swiftly back into her.

Deeper this time— much deeper. He held onto her thighs, pushing his hips into her at a steadier rate as the soft hums of her whimpers started to go deeper and become significantly more adulterated versions of moans. He felt the way he slipped in and out of her like she had been made to pleasure him.

"Keep quiet," He urged, "You're going to get us into trouble if someone hears us."

"I want them to hear how good you're fucking me," She urged, a whimper coming out as he slowed his motions to tease her further. "Fucking me so good."

He leaned in a bit close to her ear, pulling back her neck as her body contorted to meet his needs. She was in his grasp, only moving in the way that he needed her to. His hand pulled at her throat; the coolness of his undone belt buckle was against her thigh as he pushed in completely to get as close to her as possible.

The moan that escaped her lips was cut short by the hand that cupped over her mouth, which only pushed her further.

"You're going to be quiet or I'm going to pull out, do you understand me?" His voice was deep, low, and cold as she shut her eyes to the sound of it. She felt the push of two of his fingers into her mouth, a surprise at first. "Brats get punished and I'm going to leave your little cunt wanting more if you don't listen."

June hadn't felt this way in years— there had never been a man to satisfy the needs that had been built up in this way. It really hadn't been that long since she hooked up with someone, but she had never felt this way in her entire life. She had never felt this full— this satisfied. It was extraordinarily rough— it was to the point where she hadn't ever known a pleasure like this before.

She couldn't have imagined this.

"You understand?" He says finally; she hadn't recognized that he had truly been waiting for a response before continuing. She had concluded that his pleasure was aided with being in charge. June couldn't understand the way that she became extremely, unbelievably pleasant for him. A few more thrusts pushed her to the brink of extraordinary delight before she dipped her head at the throbbing feeling between her legs.

"I understand— I do, I do, fuck– fuck." She whimpered out, unaware of the way that his thrusts had pushed on her enough that her muscles involuntarily ached as her orgasm became all the sudden wet— a solid gasp releasing her lips as she felt him pull out just at the feeling.

Harry's eyes darkened to a color of coal before he watched her inevitably drip down her own legs, the sight only causing his own mind to fall to a place of filth and absolute insanity. The gushing liquid was only a sight that he never thought he'd see like that– especially from her.

The innocent act was truly just an act.

"Jesus Christ," He commented under his breath, a bit taken by the sight. He choked back for a moment before he looks at the way he left her cunt dripping with need over the dark brown boots that had pushed her legs open. "So, fucking messy, aren't you?"

He watched the way that June's breathing heaved for a moment before he let his hand run down her spine— almost like she had been a bit surprised, like she hadn't expected her body to do anything like that.

Harry paused for a moment, watching to make sure that she was okay. Even in the rough moments, he watched to see if she seemed alright— his head tilting a bit as he hadn't heard anything else from her. A small coax from his hand on the small of back made him pause for a moment.

"Hey," He spoke quietly, "You're okay, doll, hm?"

June felt extremely exhausted already, almost like her body had started to fail her with how her legs trembled in this position. Her head turned back to look at him, a small nod coming from her without any words as she tried to find herself back in the moment.

It was an odd feeling in his chest as he started to feel an ache that went from extremely vile— filthy as he fucked this girl against the tack closet desk, to a sense of vulnerability that he made have started to push her a bit further than she was ready for. She didn't know it until her body was giving her pleasure that she hadn't felt before.

In an attempt to aid in some relief, especially to the legs that shook a bit more than a small foal, he pulled June back to a standing position. Her confusion on her face was obvious before Harry grabbed her by the waist to place her on the end of the desk instead. The skirt that had been pulled around her thighs had been pulled down completely.

"Get you off your legs so I can finish you off without you falling out on me," He told her with a sly smile, "Anyone ever made you feel this good?"

He watched the girl— completely wrecked with a face of pure softness. Her eyes were dazed, her attention stayed on him as he she shook her head. He felt better that she was conscious, even if he had taken practically everything from her.

"I can tell," He tells her softly before he tucks the hair out of her face, "Sorry you've been so deprived," Harry comments, "Would've done it for you sooner, if I would have known. Good thing I know now, hm? Won't let this happen again, angel, promise.

The feeling of their lips presses together as June grabs at her thigh so that Harry can move into the position between her legs once again. His tongue tastes like tobacco, a hint of the gum that he had been chewing.

Harry pressed the tip of his cock back into her to finish what he had started. His muscles ached in his abdomen as he felt himself tense at the feeling through a few more thrusts as he faced her now.

"Feels so, so good," June's words had whimpered out of her, a bit surprising at how quiet she had been and started to become even more so. "I-I'm— it's— fuck. Please, please more."

Harry's hands had made their way to her hips, making sure she had been pulled completely to the front of the desk so that he could feel her deeper. His vision moved down to the place where they connected; a hint of heat on the back of his neck as he thought of the moment more intrinsically.

"C'mon," He coaxed, their noses brush as he lets his forehead rest against hers. His breathing hitched for a moment as he felt her hand move to grab at his bicep. "C'mon, give me one more. You can do it."

His hips snapped further into her; June breathed into his mouth with a hot gasp as she screwed her eyes shut at the feeling of his cock nudging at a place that elicit such a firework of intensity that she hadn't ever felt before. It didn't matter how many college nights, bar hookups, serious relationships— none of those had the control that Harry had over her.

This was a feeling that he had crafted to ensure that the other person felt extraordinarily vulnerable and taken. She recognized that she wasn't the first, and certainly wouldn't be the last.

She was okay to just be his right now.

"Mm," She bit on her lip at the thought of what had caused her to be sent over the edge prior. She wanted to know what to ask for; she didn't know what she needed, but she was certainly going to try. "W-Want you to...to c-call me a slut," she said with a small voice, just heard between them. Her eyes had turned away from him with a sheepish-shy feeling. "Need it."

Harry paused for a moment before he let his hand move to underneath her chin, propping her up to look into his eyes. He needed her to say it to him— needed to see her embarrassed and shy, wanting him to treat her like a one-night rather than a forever.

"I only call it like it is," He tells her with a grin carved like a devil, "I just have to call you a slut so you drench my cock? Is that it?" He knew he had to push her further, get her to a place in her head where she felt sexy, where she felt loose to the point of unraveling. "Letting me fuck you in a little closet on your daddy's ranch— such a pretty little brat."

"Fuck me," She whined, knowing that her words would travel if she were any louder. "I-I'm gonna–"

"Do it." He coaxed.

Just at the sound of his words, he could feel the way that she unwound herself— simply, he didn't recognize that his words really did have the effect. His lips part as he watched her body fully shake with a convulsion the wetness coated his front with a small spray of her. Drenching his clothes and their boots as they sat with gasping breaths, he stared at the way that her pussy reacted to him, wondering how his words affected her so easily.

She was wrecked.

"That's such a good fucking girl," Harry told her softly, pressing himself back in, nodding fervently as he reassured her. Her cry was let out of the feeling of sensitivity that came after her explosive orgasm.

His hand placed on the back of her neck, pulling her forward a bit as he snapped his hips harder into her so that he could reach a place of pure euphoria. He couldn't begin to replay the actions of her pretended innocence, wondering if he would ever get to see anything like it agan. "Not going to last—fuck."

In an instant, his muscles tensed with an aching feeling that pushed his hips deeper into hers. Harry's lips placed themselves on her neck, kissing at the spots with a gentle softness—he knew what he had been in for in this intense, heated hook-up, but his cock had found a ferocious love for finishing inside of her all of the sudden.

It was all encompassing.

"Shit– shit." He hadn't even thought of the repercussions of not having the condom but needing to be careless for a few moments of time. He fell into her grip, holding onto her softly as he felt their breathing becoming less heavy.

June's legs were wrapped around his hips like an anchor, her head sat heavy on his shoulder as he mustered up the courage to pull away. He didn't really want to pull out completely, knowing it felt too good to let his cock feel the tight confines of her walls.

He slowly pulled his hips back, letting the mess fall out with him.

"Oh, fuck." He muttered under his breath, watching the display of a horribly sexual sight. One that someone would pay money to see. "I've never felt anything like that."

The way that she breathed against the wall, up on the table. Her eyes were shut as she held herself up and wondered if her choices had been worth it. She blinked a few times, almost like her body was now shutting down after the intensity of their passionate love affair.

Harry waited for her to respond to him, to look at him. He watched as her chest raised and lowered, knowing she was still breathing, but seemed to be missing from behind her eyes.

"Hey," He pulled her back from against the wall, whispering to her sweetly as he felt himself breathing a bit fast, too. "C'mon, doll, we should go clean up. I think we can sneak out the back."

Her movements felt heavy as Harry tried his best to bring her back to her feet. When he felt that she was steady enough, he let go of her to place his jeans and belt back into place, watching her shakily redress herself. The quietness of the small tack closet didn't hinder them, as Harry placed a kiss along her cheek before he let his hands fall on the doorknob.

"I'll go first and then you can follow me," He tells her, watching her nod in agreement. "Front door or back door?" He asks, in reference to the small guest house that June had been staying in. Her breathing had finally fallen into place. The desperation of need still on her eyes, which only excited him to get her back alone.

"Back." She tells him, quietly. Using her words wasn't so bad, but her legs became a bit unsteady, so she held onto the table behind her.

Before he opens the door, Harry gives her a quick once over. His eyes land on her lips before he steps forward to leave a kiss along her pout, letting her sink into him once again. The taste of her instantly feeds him as he groans into the feeling.

It was about time he found the feeling everyone told him he should be looking for. It was a myth for so long, but just in the way that he lips melted into his was enough to make to him blush. Her hands in his hair at the back of his neck, the feeling of her nails along his jaw settled his need for the moment before he pulled back and gave her another peck.

"Don't be too long," He told her, "Don't want to have to wrangle you back to me."

She smirked at his challenge as he opened the door to slip out. Her eyes shut at the way moved, closing the door behind him. A settled feeling in her chest only made her stumble back just a bit, letting herself rest on the table before she took in a solid breath.

Home had seemingly never felt so right.

#be so nice this is my first post on here #but it's dirty so lets go #cowboyrry #harry styles fanfic #harry fanfic #ff #harryff #one direction #harry styles one shot #hsos #harry styles x original character #cowboy smut #harry styles smut #harry smutty fanfic #one-shot #harry styles fluffy #wrangled

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vivwritesfics · 1 month

Note

I almost forgot but here’s your reminder 🫶🏻

THANK YOU LILY

(this is gonna be the only thing I do today bc my head fuckin hurts) (Also happy Rhett Abbott day, I definitely didn't base readers family on the abbotts)

Series Masterlist

Logan Sargeant never saw himself doing a fifteen hour drive with his pet raccoon in the passenger seat. But Moon would have freaked out on a plane.

But it was worth it. Logan missed his girl and moon missed his mum. For that, Logan was willing to make the drive.

He knew her family had a working cattle ranch. He just didn't expect it to be this fucking huge.

He drove through the gate and kept on going. There were huge pastures either side of the drive up to the house. There was a good five minutes of driving until Logan finally saw the barn, and then the house.

The house was huge, but it was old and definitely needed repairs. He parked up outside of the house, scooped Moon into his arms and climbed out of the car.

His heart was in his throat as he knocked on the front door. She had no idea she was coming, and Logan hadn't met her family yet. Nervous was an understatement.

But then a literal, real life cowboy pulled open the door. "Can I help you?" He asked, voice deep, accent country. It was a world away from what Logan knew. This guy was huge. Tall, taller than Logan, and all muscle. He had a Stetson on his head and hair curling around his ears.

But then his eyes moved down to the raccoon in Logan's arms and his eyes lit up. "Is this Moon?" He asked.

"Yep," Logan said and held Moon's hand up to imitate waving. "I'm Logan," he said and help out his own hand towards the cowboy.

The cowboy shook it, introduced himself, and then let Logan into the house.

The cowboy, her brother, was more interested in Moon than he was in Logan. But Logan didn't mind. He'd been nervous to meet her family and Moon was definitely helping. When her mother came down the stairs, she fussed over Moon, not even noticing Logan at first.

When she introduced herself to Logan, she offered him lunch. Logan had thought that he'd take his girl out for lunch, but it was clear the offer from her mother was about more than actual food.

Her mother stood on the porch and hollered their names. "LUNCH!" She shouted.

Logan could see from the window as three people, all wearing Stetsons, walked out of the barn just across from the house. There were two men in front, one much older and one younger, and her bringing up the rear. But she stopped and pulled out her phone and pressed it to his ear.

Logan felt his own vibrate in his pocket, but he didn't answer it. She watched as she pulled her phone away from her ear in disappointment before she slipped it into her pocket and headed up to the house.

But then, as she walked through the front door, she saw him. Her jaw dropped as she stared at him. "Hi, baby," Logan said.

She ran towards him.

But completely ignored Logan.

"Oh, my baby!" She cried as she scooped moon into her arms and pressed kisses all over his face. "Oh, I missed you, my baby." She turned towards her brother, the one she had walked up from the barn with. "Per, come meet your nephew!"

#logan sargeant #logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant fluff #logan sargeant x you #ls2 #ls2 imagine #ls2 x reader #f1 #formula one #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #moon the raccoon

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tarjapearce · 2 months

Text

Mi Dulce Cereza

Ranchero! Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Synopsis: Revenge's path is never an easy feat. Not when love for the enemy and other feelings get in the way. Would it rise and come out as a victor? Or would it succumb to the sweetest of beings?

WARNING: Novela level drama, Toxic relationships, character introduction, mild and brief sexual tension, No use of YN, Family feud, scheming, disingenuous behaviors. No proofread

Summary: Miguel's revenge is set into motion.

A/N: Centuries later, here it is <3, hope you enjoy this new version! So nervous about this jskjs. Thanks to my beta reader @oharasmommymilkers00 for the help <3

"Ma!"

The ten-year-old boy called, desperate as he searched and scourged the house he lived in, to eventually find her mother in his younger brother's room.

Ravenous and long curls adorned her back. Brown beautiful eyes stared with adoration at the little six-year-old boy, carefully tucked in her arms as she combed her child's wavy strands away from his innocent face.

"Ma!" the boy called a bit more urgent as he tugged on her skirt, earning him a hushed grunt from her.

"Gabriel está durmiendo, Miguel!" (Gabriel is sleeping)

"No, Ma! Debes venir a la entrada! Hay gente buscando a George!" (You gotta come to the door! There's people looking for George!)

Conchata quickly put Gabriel into his crib and darted to the entrance. Panic and bile rose in her insides.

The banging on the feeble and rusty metal doors alarmed Conchata the more she approached the main hacienda's door.

Much to her and Miguel's surprise a group of men, awaited outside. Dressed in the blue and white colors proper of a Santa Margarita's Town police officer.

Miguel's eyes wandered over the guns that nested on the men's hips as they rode their horses haughtily. But paid special attention to the man leading them.

Hardened and weathered face, partially obscured by his camel brown Stetson hat, dressed up sharply, letting his belt and the overall imposing aura to do the talk for him, same as his horse and everything that donned his body. His eyes narrowed as soon as he saw Conchata.

"Miss Stone. I believe it's the third time I ask for you to leave" He acknowledged sternly.

A surname that made Miguel's churn in utter discomfort, but his mother always told him to give that name to strangers, since the O'Hara was only for the family. But even that one didn't sit right in his heart either. Not when the provider of such surname had been long gone from their lives, with no intention of returning.

And the men before his home were everything but familiar, strangers at best. Invaders. Trespassers with a penchant for intimidation as they were all armed to the teeth.

"The hell you want?!" Conchata crossed her arms and returned the steely glare the handsome and powerful man gave her.

His mother's bravado was certainly something Miguel could look up, despite the woman not being her best title of mother with him. But her bravery made him courageous.

"For you to leave my property."

"What are you talking about?! This is not your property, Anderton!"

A man like Pastor William was hard to ignore, not when power and influences oozed from him by merely existing.

"It is. You're living in Edenton's. Half the area is mine now."

"I have my property papers! This is outright ridiculous!" Conchata huffed as she sent Miguel to to get them.

"My lawyer is here. So we can have this settled once for all."

"There is nothing to settle!, I told your people I wouldn't sell my home and now you're acting far from someone that believes in God to get it!, maldita rata!" (fucking rat)

William narrowed his eyes at the last words that spilled with venom from Conchata's plump lips. He wasn't a man to give easily into anger, but his patience wasn't something to be tested either.

He had bought a good chunk of Edenton's territory and much to Conchata's dismay her home was right in the middle of said property.

The boy wasted no time into retrieving her mother's proofs of ownership as she opened the door to see the man that ground her nerves in seconds. Face to face.

And when the policeman and lawyer took a brief look at them, they could only snort in derision upon reading them.

"Not only are they outdated, but the important signatures are missing. This is fake."

Conchata paled, and she clutched her chest. Her heart pounded so hard she had to grab Miguel's lanky arm to support herself. Everything was slowly falling apart.

"Ma?"

Her boy looked up at her, concern plastered over his young yet understanding face

"T-That cannot be! George left it all arranged before leaving!"

"He didn't. Otherwise I wouldn't be here."

William gave the papers to his lawyer as he climbed off the horse and Conchata immediately tried to get them back, but tore them im the process

"No! No! That's not true! My papers " She shrieked and the police officer intervened as soon as she tried to go for Anderton's lawyer.

"Stop! " Miguel was held back after kicking the officer's shin.

Conchata freed herself from the guard's grip, only to deliver a hard slap on William's face.

"La vas a pagar caro cabrón! A mi nadie me sacará de mi casa!" (You'll pay for this. None kicks me out of my home!)

The officers held Conchata back and Miguel, since the boy attempted to defend the remnants of his mother's dignity. But there was little they could do.

Conchata's land was prosperous, and so far it provided a good income to live rather peacefully and away from the rest. Until now.

William was rather strict and apprehensive about his properties. He owed half the town, and for Conchata to live there, right in the spot he wanted to build his home for his new family, rendered nothing but a black and ugly spot to his future dream.

Buthe would erase it. And if he needed to get over the law, to get it, he would. Influences had their perks. And these worked to his favor without a hitch.

"I'll give you three days for you to pack it up 'n leave."

"Three days?! Where am I going to find a place to live? My children... I can't leave-"

"I'm sure the local shelters will take you in gladly. Be grateful I got you time."

William seethed with his usual calm, sending shivers down Miguel's spine, as the boy held onto his mother's skirt.

The men turned around in their horses and soon began galloping away, but William got up on the beast back, remaining high and proud. Looking down at him.

For a man to make Conchata to clutch and hold on to him so protectively, meant she had no power at all. That she had been defeated. Something his childish brain thought impossible.

It reminded him the ways she sometimes protected him and Gabriel from George in his usual drunk fits.

That day, Pastor William Anderton remained forever engraved in Miguel's core memories and in his heart's growing rage.

Resentment wasn't often a feeling a boy so young like him should experience. But there he was, memorizing every dip, pore and soft wrinkle from the man's features so his heart and mind wouldn't forget him.

So he wouldn't forget who had been the monster that forced his family to leave and abandon everything he had known so far.

Miguel O'Hara had no longer a home.

But if there was something William had forgotten, was to never scorn a woman. Much less one with a fiery temper and a heart full of fresh wounds.

He had doused her wounded heart in salt, rubbed with it and then tossed it to the fire. To let it break and burn to ashes.

William hadn't shown mercy, despite the word coming from his mouth every Sunday in his church as part of his speech to the masses.

But Conchata's mind was already turning and plotting.

----

Miguel's upbringing was everything but easy, but that didn't stop him from achieving whatever goals he proposed.

Shelters and rental homes were left behind, and soon he earned a scholarship into a college, earning him a degree and masters in agronomy and large-scale management.

Gabriel in the meantime helped Conchata around the house. Having little side hustles for himself.

But as he grew up, so did his hatred for the Andertons. It didn't help that Conchata threw more dry hatred bones to the vengeful fire with her bitter tells. She always boasted on whatever little thing the Andertons did with spite and hatred in her heart.

William's face remained intact in Miguel's brain. Ever hardened and cruel, impassive to anyone else's suffering. Indifferent to his mother's pleas.

The day they left everything they knew, scarred him to this very day. Miguel sworn to one day, he'd owe his own estate, full of everything he always wanted.

He wouldn't have to sojourn through shelters and temporary homes ever again, having a hard time sleeping because of his mother's safety. He wouldn't have to look down in fear and shame when people that breathed and exhaled money, talked to him.

He wouldn't have to see his mother, shitty as she was sometimes, breaking down for not having for the most basic of needs. And he definitely wouldn't let himself to be trampled all over again by anyone. Not rich, nor poor.

Now, with a master's degree in his pocket, a new project rose in his mind. Train and rehab horses professionally. An emerging and blooming business within Santa Margarita.

Everything out of hearing that William entered a new venture. Purebred horses.

Of course a man like him had to be in the mouth of every people in town.

William ran the biggest church in the city, had multiple successful and clean business thanks to his estate, Cherryville. And now, the horses.

A novelty in town. He'd often see through the newspaper images of William and his wife, Rosaura, telling how wonderful and valuable they were for the community, and how much their philanthropic tendencies helped those in need. The man was rotting money after all.

Oh, the irony. Miguel sometimes wondered if William did it out of genuine vocation, cause he had to give the man some credit for keeping a saint facade in front of the rest for so long. He was doing it go hard or go home.

If people only knew the scum he is.

If everyone truly knew who Pastor William J. Anderton was, none would spare him a glance. None would look at his way twice to spare him some kind words. Everyone would shun him and mark him a fraud. His world would collapse. Something Miguel needed to achieve.

The purebred training horse's business opened his contact list, and with his smarts and the follow of his intuition, it took him a couple of years to get him in the map of those that were in dire need of help and could afford it.

Cause if he could exploit the rich, he wouldn't waste the chance of earning good money. Not when his personal estate was under construction and renovations, away in it's own heaven, outside Santa Margarita.

He stopped introducing himself as Miguel Stone long ago. He didn't want anything to do with that surname that stirred nothing but hatred and suffocating anger, towards the man that harmed his little and already broken family even more. And the O'Hara had earned him a bit of reputation.

A credible and respectful renown to meet people that gave him the chance to not only learn from the best horse trainers, but gave him the chance to apply everything he knew. Adding even more value to his resume.

Gabriel also graduated college, following Miguel's steps. Although the latter was more inclined to production than management. He was a more practical man than the over thinker of his brother.

Together they made a phenomenal duo, but when separated, months could pass before they saw eachother again.

But with Miguel's plan running, Gabriel promised him to remain close and available as possible to see it through.

In fact, William sought him out himself to ask him if he could train his horses and took full on responsibility of his farm.

-----

He was ready to set his plan into motion. None other than his number one enemy had hired him.

Miguel's body buzzed with a mix of anxiety and excitement. Being the best to get hired was scratched off his list.

Soon all the hatred festering in his heart to the man that destroyed his childhood and family, would come to fruition. But there was a remaining distraction.

Dana.

"Remind me again, why are you going to a farm to be exploited and mistreated by rich people?"

The soft voice behind him echoed in his room. Miguel sat naked on the bed, as the short-haired brunette with blue eyes hugged him from behind and kissed his cheek and neck.

"Gotta make it as believable as possible if I want to expose the Andertons."

Dana just hummed, seeing him so determined and focused into getting this family feud, settled once and for all, amused her to no end.

Dana rolled her eyes while resting her chin on his sharp and well worked shoulder, "But no need to be so serious."

It was Miguel's turn to roll his eyes and stand up, reaching his underwear in tandem.

"Don't be cold, Miggy. I just wanna see you again, once you're victorious, so we can keep celebrating"

Miguel chuckled with derision as he took a towel and wrapped it up loosely against his waist.

"I'm good, thanks. And there's no we in this."

"Are you sure? I mean, I spread word around on you and look at you now. The best trainer. I'd say I'm also part of this too"

Her voice irked sometimes whenever it got like this. Sickly sweet and full of lies. Even more when she purred nothing but half truths.

In truth, he had met Dana for the past six months, all thanks to Gabriel that suggested her as a contact link to those he wanted to get at. Filthy and obscenely rich people that needed someone to help them out with their properties as soon as possible, to salvage them out of sentimentalism.

Even though the initial chemistry was undeniable, it had worn out thanks to her insufferable and possessive attitude. And no matter how many times he'd tell her a plain and outright No, she kept insisting. She was the one that always returned and always ended up in his bed.

"Yeah, no. Look, I don't want you snooping around. And I mean it."

The only that believed that they were something. Sure, Dana served his purpose to keep those physical urges away, but other than that, there was nothing substantial about her he could say he was attracted to, besides her contacts.

Dana's hands tried to reach him, but Miguel stepped away from her touch, recoiling with haste and heading for the shower.

"If you ruin this for me, I swear, We'll have problems."

More than they already did? Impossible.

Dana just laughed, "Don't be mean, you gotta reward me one way or another for your clientele."

"Dios mio... Con qué loca me vine a enredar" (My God, what a crazy woman I came to get involved with)

He mumbled while stepping into the shower.

"I'll see you soon, baby." Her giggles had his eyes rolling with annoyance and his shoulders squaring.

He'd leave in a couple of hours, to start what his whole self had been preparing for years. Soon the Andertons would know him.

----

Returning to the place he grew up had his stomach in a tight and anxious knot, tighter than a hair's tangle.

The once colorless and rusty metal doors he loved to slam with his soccer ball while playing with Gabriel, were now turned into sturdy, iron structures that moved automatically. Sliding to the side to let him in as soon as he reported himself through the camera's speaker.

A Stony L-shaped wall held a metallic letters into another metallic structure. Cherryville Ranch.

He had arrived and his heart beat at the uncomfortable sensation of seeing his home destroyed and turned into a colonial-like resort.

Where there was a modest yet firm built, one floored home, was now a two floored manor that extended left to right. A vibrant sunset orange dressed the walls of the structure, adding enough color to the place sumptuous grandeur.

The staff ran up and down, bustling and moving like busy ants through the anthill, obeying the queen. Or rather monarchs.

His black Chevrolet Silverado parked outside, following the instructions of a man that gave him the ok with a good smile.

He had arrived ten minutes earlier, just in case. Miguel stepped out and put on his hat.

A black and brown flannel dressed up his torso snugly, a pair of jeans that did a wonderful job into containing his well worked legs, the belt just hugged his narrow waist, accentuating his sculpted physique.

The man offered his help with his suitcase, but Miguel refused with a polite smile.

"Keep going straight and you'll get to Mr. Anderton's office. It's the only brown door in this floor."

Strong hands clenched at the name of his enemy.

"Thanks."

Miguel had to take a moment to breathe in and take his surroundings.

Everything he remembered from his childhood, gone. His heart felt mike coming home to a stranger's home. Foraying in someone else's territory.

A someone that obliterated every single bit of his childhood, every piece of memory he created with Gabriel, forever gone and buried.

Replaced with over the top decors, a fake sense of coziness, hidden lies embedded in the sunset like sturdy walls, and people he once strived to be like. All now trespassers and inconnus.

Conchata always fed his brain into believing greater things, alway encouraged him to keep the hatred alive.

Would she be proud to see how far on his plan had he gotten? Probably. Even if she was busy with her new boyfriend that provided everything.

Some women shushed and spilled their gasp as he passed, leaving his presence alone to do the talk for him regarding the effect he had on women.

But this land, his once forgotten and forlorn home, would be his again.

With steadfast steps, he ventured in the enemy's territory, passing rooms and people that unavoidably watched him with brief curiosity.

But all those hubristic thoughts sapped away as soon as his eyes came in contact with the door.

A thrilled and anxious chill ran down his spine upon hearing the terse voice of his sworn foe, giving orders to someone in particular. Miguel's throat felt arid.

His heart thumped a miles per second, his breath paced into a more agitated pace and his eyes kept blinking, readying themselves to face his nemesis.

"Come in."

He obeyed and his nose flared, releasing a shaky exhale when seeing William. Same weather and cold face, the only difference was him looking a bit more rugged and his white hairs even more prominent.

It was as if time had barely passed over him.

It took every single cell and fibre of his body to control the urge to punch him in the face. But the satisfaction of having the reversed roles for a moment brought satisfaction like no other.

This time William had to crane up his head to see him, and a chill ran down his spine when meeting Miguel's red-ish brown eyes. Piercing and judging with all the intention of doing so, as if the very man before him knew his deepest secrets.

The door shut with a quiet click and Miguel stepped closer.

"Mr. O'Hara." William stood to meet him with a brief and firm handshake.

"Sir."

William nodded with a brief smile and gestured for him to sit before him.

"Must say what people say about you, do you justice."

"Good things I hope."

"Now. The property you'll be in charge is in a bit of a mishap, I've barely had the time to fix it-"

"S'alright. It's part of the barn you said?"

"Indeed. Your functions are detailed in the contract, payment is every fortnight, unless you'd like to choose another type of payment time."

"Fortnight is alright."

William pushed the contract to Miguel, and this wasted no time in reading it and taking a picture of each page.

"Any doubts you, can call me and I'll get back to you as soon as possible."

Miguel signed and pushed the paper back to him. William put it on a folder and then put it on a file. He turned off his computer, and lead the way towards the stables.

"I've tried everything, and nothing works. People have told me to sacrifice the horse, but I can't do that."

Miguel wandered after William through the never ending halls of the estate, there was nothing left of his home. Not even the built in stone oven, where he'd watch Conchata prepare dinner and he'd help out with the tortillas.

Now full of modern equipment and full of people cooking different things he couldn't name.

Miguel had to admit that the stables were his favorite part from the whole dollhouse. William knew no concept of budget. But that was alright, cause every horse in it was worth every single penny and had turned it into a lovely stable aisle.

Each horse had its own fortified enclosure, well kept and clean. There were no bad odors, dirt, mud. None of that. Matter of fact, his eyes blinked when seeing some horses having a swim in a giant custom made pool.

Everything in Cherryville oozed with power and money.

Having revenge and interacting with horses he only dreamed of while getting paid, felt the ultimate fantasy came true.

The angry neigh of a horse snapped him out of his thoughts. The black Friesian stallion kicked and nipped another brown horse nearby. The caretakers immediately separated them both.

William sighed deeply and defeated. And Miguel approached to inspect the brown mustang horse.

"That's Joaquín. The black one is Agustín."

Miguel quirked his brow at the name choices but was glad to have something he was familiar with.

Miguel chuckled and nodded

"Do you know spanish, Mr. Anderton?"

"The amount enough to understand when my wife is angry."

"I see."

As much as he wanted to let out an array of insults here and there to test his words, he'd keep his sharp tongue for himself.

"You can start tomorrow, I'll let you get installed. The barn is in good conditions to suit your needs. If anything is missing, ask any of the helpers around."

With a final and firm handshake, William left.

Miguel gave himself a tour. He wanted to familiarize with the property as much as he could. He didn't like to rely on others for the simplest of task.

Even his way to the barn had been paved and well lighted. No longer being the muddy a d dark road he loved to splash his feet in, even if that meant to have his ear pulled by Conchata later.

The barn, like the rest, took his breath away. It looked like a house for himself.

He wasted no time into admiring the work, and effort put into it. The tack room was sure a thing, but his bedroom and office were even better conditioned. It was a place worth of his skills and knowledge.

Miguel begun unpacking and installing himself. From his window he could see yet another extension of property, Bodegas and the staff living quarters he supposed.

One thing he had forgotten about the place were the torrential rains that always seeped in. Sometimes the blackouts were so common he'd rather be candle lit.

And another entrance to the whole facility adjacent a couple of blocks from his barn.

---

He had finished his shower after spending his evening trying to get acquainted with Agustín and the rest of his crew. Overall and so far it seemed the perfect place to work, but also a challenge.

Thunders roared outside and rain kept flogging every surface it could, permeating to the core. He was ready to make his bed and call Gabriel when the lights were out.

A loud whir echoed through, before the lights returned, the generator wasted to time into working.

What alerted him was the main entrance opening and closing shut.

Had a worker slipped in?

Another blackout happened as he approached to the door only to find a soaked and gorgeous woman shivering on the entrance.

"Ma'am?"

----

Your friends had promised to be a casual party among the singletons in town, nothing more, nothing less. But time and drinks kept going, like the fun.

Until you had enough. As an Anderton you had a reputation to keep, but you were glad your friends made you feel a normal woman, free of keen and expecting eyes and societal etiquettes.

Free of the overbearing role model you had to be for being the Pastor's daughter.

But right now all you cared for was to get inside the barn to give your body a rest from the cold.

The once lovely dress you wore was now hugging you with a vice like grip, suffocating your curves like a second skin. The red and short cardigan around your shoulders did little to nothing to protect you from the unforgiving rain. Hair stuck to your shivering face, teeth clattered as you looked through the window. The rain had no intention to stop.

Your hands removed the cardigan, then tossed the clothing piece to the floor, as you rubbed some heat back.

"Ma'am?"

The rich and deep voice got you jumping in your spot.

"Oh, my god... I'm-" You swallowed when seeing the handsome man before you, dressed up in nothing but his grey sweatpants and some slippers. A towel hung loosely on one of his shoulders.

His brow quirked as his face remained serene.

"I-I'm sorry didn't know the barn was occupied."

You kept rubbing your arms, hoping for the rain to drop. A loud thunder made you recoil from the door, while the drip drops scurrying off your body rolled down to the floor, joining into a puddle beneath your red heeled sandals.

If it wasn't for your hair sticking on your cheeks, the man would definitely see the profuse blush emerging on them. Shirtless men weren't in your everyday occurrence, much less handsome and tall men with beautiful eyes that seized your soul.

A smirk came on Miguel's face, as he retrieved another towel from the bathroom and he approached.

"I got installed today, it's ok."

He gave you the towel, and you took with a grateful smile. Immediately pat drying your face, neck and arms.

He watched you with sharp eyes, following your hand's movement as he slicked back his hair.

You were gorgeous. And drenched to the bones. That little dress did little to keep his eyes wandering to your thighs, marveling at the soft and plumpness of them. He had to look away as soon as his eyes stopped on your chest. The outline of your nipples poking out the dress, gave him enough distraction for a moment.

You didn't look past twenties.

"Uhm..." Your sweet and stammering voice made him curious.

Such a polite girl.

"Yes?"

"Can I use the barn's phone, please?"

He shook his head softly and opened his office. Letting the door open for you to enter.

"Of course."

"Sorry for the floor."

Your arms crossed on your chest, giving him a glimpse of your cleavage. Then fetched the phone, the number however made him frown as it was William's personal contact number.

"Hello? Papa? Can you send someone to the barn with an umbrella, please?"

Papa

Miguel blinked as he stared your way from the door frame. This was even better than he anticipated.

He was so deep in his scheming that forgot William's family. So far he knew, the Anderton man had only one child. And he was now looking at said person.

He could see some bits of William in you, specially in your nose and cheekbones. The rest was your mother's doing.

And what a good job they've made.

"I know, I'm sorry. Got too caught up in the party."

Miguel luck couldn't truly get any better. He could even taste his revenge through his mouth. It was sweet as your perfume.

"Thanks. Love you!"

You hung up the call and smiled his way.

"Thank you. Mr...?"

"O'Hara. Miguel O'Hara."

You gave him your name with a sweet smile as he shook your hand amiably.

"Right. So you're the new trainer?"

His lax frame slanted against the doorframe, blocking your way from the entrance with his form. His eyes fixed you with an enigmatic smirk.

Your nervousness was making your mind a jumbled mess by simply being around him. Half-naked men and men were off the list. Mainly because your parents' strict beliefs. And the man that would get you, would be your future husband. Without discussion.

"I am. Yes. Quite impressive the settlement you've got."

"Ah, well. Dad takes seriously his businesses, and he needs all the help he can get. So thank you for coming."

"My pleasure to help, señorita."

His lip curled, almost imperceptible upon your flustered reaction. Your skin remained with goosebumps.

"Come. Let's get you warmed up."

You followed him to the fireplace and soon he got another towel since the one you had was soaked through.

You sat in front of the fireplace and he draped your shoulders with the dry and cozy towel to then sit across you.

"Thanks" You gulped and extended your hands towards the fire, gaining a much needed wave of heat.

He couldn't wait for you to leave and call Gabriel to tell him everything he had seen so far. Everything was beyond perfect, like if the universe itself had delivered his revenge on a silver platter.

A couple of minutes passed before a familiar voice to you echoed from outside the barn.

"Mi niña! Let's go!"

The ever familiar voice of your nana called, and you stood.

"Thanks for the help, Miguel."

"Anytime, señorita."

He nodded with a softened smile, that didn't reach his eyes and watched you leave.

"See you soon!" You waved and headed back to the main doors. Your heels clicking on the floor.

"Vicky!" you squeezed under the umbrella after your nana secured the towel.

You wanted to give Miguel a last thanking but the latter had already closed the door. You left to the manor.

Miguel rushed to fetch his phone and immediately called Gabriel. He picked up after the third ringing.

Miguel talked and rambled about everything he had seen, and Gabriel could only listen. Expectant.

"Lemme get some months in and then you can come. That way we gather more evidence."

"What about that woman? Anderton's daughter."

He sighed with a dreamy heave.

"She looks the type that's perfect for luring."

"Use her to your advantage. Hit em right where it hurts."

"I'll do it. Don't worry. She's too kind and sweet. Won't see it coming."

With this new piece of information, Miguel could do so many things. But his goal was clear.

He'd hit William right where he dared hit Conchata a long time ago.

He'd go after you. And if that meant to act like he adored you, then so be it.

His revenge was finally in motion.

----

Taglist:

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#t writes✨#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #ranchero! miguel #mi dulce cereza

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simpforrooster · 10 months

Text

falling for a girl in purple & gold.

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x F!Reader

summary: your brother convinces you to join him at his tailgate. you meet a gorgeous blonde, who happens to root for the opposing football team.

t/w: lots of mention of alcohol. she/her pronouns. cursing. instalovey.

a/n: i’ve been dying to write something like this. this fic is def based off megan maroney’s ‘tennessee orange’ and conner smith’s ‘orange & white.’ i left readers school pretty ambiguous until the verrrrrry end. i’m an lsu girlie 💜💛 so i needed a little self-service.

Stepping into the tailgate tent, nostalgia fills your body. You are transported immediately back to your time in college. Cheering on your alma mater with your sorority sisters. Hooking up with those random frat guys who definitely showed you a good time. You’d have to remember to thank your brother for making you come.

“Sis!” Speak of the devil. Your brother envelops you into a huge bear hug, as if he didn’t see you one week prior at your family’s standing dinner date. You return his hug.

“I am so glad you made it!”

Your brother began introducing you to several of his friends who were taking up space in the tailgate tent. If he doesn’t know them from his fraternity days, then he knows them from the Navy.

“Two more guys are planning to show,” your brother says. “Guys from my time in Miramar.” You understand this to mean from his time at TOPGUN.

Lucky for you, you’ve been schooled in all things naval aviation thanks to the burly guy you call a brother. There was no way he was going to have a sister have zero knowledge about the Navy.

His words, not yours.

Leaving you to ponder, your brother begins mixing drinks. He hands you his “special” after a few minutes. His special being vodka, with a tiny splash of sprite and cranberry juice.

You take the drink from him, raising your brows.

“It’s the first tailgate of the year, sis. Go big or go home.”

You’d much rather go home than consume a ton of alcohol in this heat.

“Well if it ain’t Bozo!” you hear a deep voice call, with a sliiiiight country accent.

“Hey guys!” your brother calls with the enthusiasm of a kid who just unwrapped a PS5 from under the tree. “I’m glad y’all made it.”

You turn and take in the source of that accent, and almost spill your drink. Your brother never told you he was friends with Adonis.

His blonde hair fans out at his neck, beneath a nice Stetson, like he’s skipped a few haircuts. A pair of jeans hug his hips, and across his chest, the school colors of the enemy.

University of Texas. You were sure that burnt orange wouldn’t look good on anyone, but this man is proving that notion wrong. Your eyes lock with his, and he makes sure you see his eyes trail down your body.

When those green eyes meet yours, he drops his right eye in a slow wink.

“Bozo, I didn’t know you colluded with the enemy,” you say to your brother, nodding toward the handsome blonde.

“Ah, well,” Bozo starts, rubbing his hand behind his neck, “not everyone is perfect.”

“What do they call you?” you ask the blonde, not being able to take not knowing his name any longer.

“Hangman.” He fixes you with a gorgeous smirk, and tips that cowboy hat.

“Hangman?” you question, cocking an eye brow.

Those eyes peer into yours. “Yes ma’am.” The way he says those two words has you thinking of all the instances he could say them in.

“What do they call you when you’re not flying a plane?”

“Jake. And your name, pretty lady?”

“Y/n.” You stick a hand out toward him. Jake reaches forward, taking your hand lightly into yours. The two of you stand there, shaking hands for what feels like an eternity. Neither one of you wanting to break the contact.

“Fuck, Bozo. You never mentioned how beautiful your sister is,” Jake says to your brother, but never taking his eyes off you.

“Because you’re a fucking playboy, Bagman,” he says.

“Funny,” Jake comments.

And you’d gladly let him.

“A playboy, huh?” You quip.

Jake shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe I just haven’t met the right lady yet.”

The way he peers into your eyes has you sipping your mixed drink in order to hold some of your sanity. This man has the potential to ruin you.

And you’d gladly welcome it.

Grabbing his hand, you pull him toward the beer pong table. “Be my partner.” You fix him with one of your award winning smiles.

“Anything for you, darlin’,” he drawls. Gah, that accent is gonna be the death of you. The two of you fall into a steady rhythm, beating your brother and another aviator, Rooster, effortlessly.

Jake holds up his hand for a high five. When your hand meets his, his fingers lace between yours. He pulls you into him. You can’t be sure if the vodka is making you lightheaded, or the way your body feels pressed against his.

“I’m having the time of my life with you, sweet thing,” he says into your ear. You giggle into his chest. You actually giggle. You’ve never giggled in your life.

“What would you say if I needed to kiss you?” Jake asks against your temple. Spying your brother working the makeshift bar, you grab Jake’s hand. You lead Jake down an alley situated between two class buildings.

“I’d say, kiss me, Hangman,” you say, grabbing his ugly, orange jersey to pull him toward you. One of his hands braces his weight against the wall, just outside your shoulder. He has you completely caged in, that strong body hovering over yours. Jake reaches up to pull his hat from his head. He casually holds the hat up, blocking anyone from seeing the two of you.

Between Jake’s kisses and your brother’s mixed drink, you’re feeling all kinds of good. Not wanting any of it to stop, you grip his jersey tighter, pulling him as close as you can get him.

A low groan escapes his mouth, and the fact that he’s seemingly affected by you the same way you are by him has you reeling.

“A gentleman would at least take you out first before kissing you like this,” he murmurs.

“Oh yeah?” you question, not really letting his words soak in.

“Mhmm. Too bad I am not feeling too gentlemanly, right now.” Jake deepens the kiss, and your hands leave his jersey and thread through his hair.

“Good,” you breathe.

Your watch buzzes, pulling you from Jake’s tantalizing kisses. Taking a peek, your brother’s name appears across it.

Where the fuck are you? We have to go into the stadium.

Jake pulls his phone from his back pocket. “Bozo,” he murmurs.

“Where are your seats?” You ask, still breathless from his kissing.

“Next to you,” he says, placing once more kiss to your lips. Pulling you from the wall, he plops his hat onto your head.

“Fuck, my dads going to be so pissed I’m falling for a girl in purple & gold,” Jake says shaking his head. “Lead the way, darlin’.”

masterlist.

#top gun maverick #top gun #top gun maverick fic #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin #jake hangman x reader #hangman top gun #hangman x you #hangman oneshot #hangman x oc #hangman x reader #hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin

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ninzied · 18 hours

Text

weeds

based on the prompt: a kiss on a falling tear. brownstone/bonus chapter era. 600 word ficlet.

Henry has been surrounded by flowers all his life.

Flowers in every hallway and room. Atop every table and flanking every door that led to yet more hallways, yet more rooms. Flowers that were fussed over, flowers that were arranged to perfection despite being replaced at least once a day. Flowers in the palace gardens where Henry used to escape as a child, wishing the mazes could swallow him whole.

Flowers at the funeral.

Flowers at the royal wedding, when his life jump-started again.

And now, flowers in the brownstone that Alex has just moved into with him. They’re daisies in an assortment of colors. Nothing extraordinary, though they would’ve turned heads at the palace for that very reason alone. Henry’s pretty sure they’re classified as weeds, technically speaking.

He’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

That is, apart from the man who’s just brought them home on a whim, who’s now calling to Henry over his shoulder, “Babe, do you think these would look good in a mug?”

Henry thinks he would love them anywhere. Everywhere. Wherever he can. This little life he’s building with Alex is the brightest, fullest, most incredible thing, and he will not take a single bit of it for granted.

They go to the MoMA. It’s the first touristy thing that they’ve done since moving in together. And, Henry realizes, watching Alex tear through his wardrobe looking for the perfect cover, it’s one of the first museums he’ll have been to during normal daylight hours.

Alex gleefully poses Henry in all the various hats that he owns. He makes a grave miscalculation when it comes to his black Stetson, which delays their leaving the house by many, many hours. Alex finally comes to the breathless conclusion that it would draw too much attention if Henry were to wear it outside.

(“Mm,” says Henry, still catching his breath back himself. “You can’t possibly mean from you, of course.”

“Definitely not,” Alex agrees, already moving to kiss him again.)

They walk hand-in-hand through the museum sometime even later, in baseball caps and soft t-shirts, and Henry can’t believe this gets to be his life now. They let themselves be jostled along with the crowds, Angus up ahead of them. He needn’t be; no one so much as looks at them twice.

Eventually, they wander their way up to the fifth level. They step into a room where Henry finds himself once again surrounded by flowers.

The largest painting occupies three panels, spanning a significant length of the room. Gran has taken great pride in the royal collection over the years, pieces the family could access in private whenever they so pleased. But there’s something about standing here, with Alex. Just two people, being in love while looking at art. Like it’s something extraordinary, this beautifully ordinary thing they can do.

“Huh,” Alex murmurs, reading the placard. “Took him twelve years to paint this.” He squeezes Henry’s hand, then adds almost offhandedly: “I think that’s about how long it took after seeing you in J14 for the first time. Getting to finally kiss you, I mean.”

Henry looks at Alex with a feeling much too big for words. He smiles, his chest aching with it. The feeling wells up, touching the edges of his vision until he sees in watercolor. “Darling,” he says. “Are you comparing our love story to a Monet?”

“Please.” Alex looks affronted. “This guy’s got nothing on us.”

It’s blasphemous, surely. But as Alex leans in, kissing away a tear on his cheek, Henry thinks he’s secretly rather inclined to agree.

also on ao3.

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrbsource #rwrb fic #firstprince #firstprince fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fanfic #iuserzoe #usernuria #userveronika #usersteen #chrissiewatts #carrythesky #sheisraging #lookstevie #sometimes i badger zoë into giving me fic ideas

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sunlightmurdock · 3 days

Note

Dads Best Friend Jake and sending you back out to a family event after ducking you senseless

yes because he would have the most shit-eating grin on his face as he’s tugging his jeans back up his legs, watching you all fucked out and absolutely mindless for him as you lean your head back against the bathroom mirror.

dress all askew, your chest exposed and heaving with his teeth marks littered across the underside of your tits, he’s still grinning like a devil as he comes in for that first, deceptively sweet kiss.

“C’mere, baby girl, I’ve got you,” He murmurs, voice dripping with sugary-sweet kind of kindness as he cleans up some of the mess from your thighs. He looks down at himself dripping out of you and licks his lips as he hooks his fingers into the underwear tangled around your ankles. “Gotta put on a show for a while. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

and it’s not like you’ve got much of a choice about things, there’s a whole crowd of people up there far from ready to be scandalised by the things that Jake just did to you in your upstairs bathroom.

He cleans you up tenderly and dutifully, kissing you back down to reality, stepping back out to the party and calmly setting his Stetson back on top of his head. Then, he watches with a tugging smirk on his face as you wander back in a few moments later, wide-eyed and pressing your thighs together

#dbf!jake #jake Seresin #Jake hangman Seresin

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rainyyynightssss · 2 months

Note

Omg record of ragnarok, where have you been oh my lord when I’ve been needing some of it abdvducudhrdbxu! But if I may can I ask for Buddha ( how much I love him is just unreal dhtgrhdudh ) and Poseidon where god(dess) reader is fighting but gets badly hurt in the fight?

Record of Ragnarok

Reacting to you getting badly injured in a battle

Characters: Poseidon, Buddha

Notes: Thank you so much for this request! (My love for Buddha is similarly unreal.)

Poseidon

Resting your weapon down, you stare your opponent dead in the eyes. Defeating a mere human would be easy work for a god like you. You worked hard to be the best, just as your family is. When the tournament was officially on its way, you knew what you had to do. Humans are selfish creatures that can never reach perfection no matter how hard they try, not like a god can.

The human who stands before you is a young woman, a marksman with a stetson hat you already knocked clean off her head as soon as that bell rang. She tried with all her might to get a good shot at you, but a gun is no match for divine power.

The match has been going on for about ten minutes. You begrudgingly have to admit that despite her shots not reaching you, she did manage to dodge all of your swings towards her. You're building up a sweat and you reach up to wipe the offending substance.

As you look up, you find Poseidon watching the match with his usual blank expression. It was well known he didn't acknowledge anyone who didn't reach the pinnacle of perfection. And even then, perfection is already expected of gods so there was no need for him to give them praise either. Despite this, you're determined to make the icy sea look at you.

You turn back to the human and snort as she unites with her Valkyrie. "Honestly, why don't you just give up?" You could nearly laugh at her enraged expression. She once again cocks her gun at you.

"I'll even spare you a painful dea-" Your words are cut off by a bullet piercing through your flesh, slicing through several organs before shooting out of your back. Your hands shake and you look down with wide, dazed eyes to find a sizable hole in your stomach.

Even with Völundr, a human should not be this strong. A human shouldn't be able to make a god bleed. And yet, blood fills your mouth and you're forced to cough it out.

"Vile...filthy...disgusting human!" You bellow out before raising your weapon high. Quickly tired of playing games, you slice and hack at the human. You use your divine abilities to show the human just exactly what kind of advantage a god has over her. She tried her best to defend herself, her bullets grazing your arms and legs, but ultimately she's no match for your prowess. With one last swing from your weapon, the human stumbles and falls to the ground in several pieces.

A crescendoing roar erupts from the crowd on the god's side. It's nothing compared to best pounding in your head as you try to stumble your way to the gigantic doors. Your ferocity towards the human overshadowed the pain you felt at the unnatural hole in your stomach, and now you're feeling it at full force.

A couple medics rush over to try and hold you steady but you shove them off. You could hardly call yourself a worthy god if you weren't able to walk off after your match. Your body did not seem to agree with your ideals since you soon collapse to the ground and your consciousness fades.

You wake up in a room full of stone. The light shining through the windows makes you squint your eyes. The pain in your abdomen makes you not want to move an inch and you groan quietly to yourself. You didn't leave the battle unscathed as you expected. Even worse, you passed out in front of everyone and had to be carried out. You would never be like your esteemed family. You would never be deemed worthy of being looked upon.

***

You sigh and reach your hand down to touch the bandages wrapped around you. A large hand grips your wrist.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. Unless you enjoy the prospect of bleeding out all over the table." Poseidon says. His eyes, of course, are not on you but rather on the window above your head. Your own eyes widen and you freeze in place, trying to conjure up some words to say to him. If he notices your hesitation, he doesn't say anything as he moves your hand back to your side.

"What are you...doing here?" You manage to say. Poseidon hums to himself for a moment and taps a steady beat on the head rest of the table.

"Some gods feel we should have sympathy for the humans. That maker should help their creation." Poseidon's finger pauses and he meets your gaze. "You don't think that way, do you?"

Seeing his blueish-gray murky eyes on your own makes you take pause. You don't understand it at all. You made yourself look like a weakling and yet he's still looking at you. Despite the intimidation in his gaze, you find that you can't look away.

You shake your head at his question that was said more like a statement. Humans needed to fend for themselves, as they're doing now.

"Good. I'm glad there's at least one god around here who has some sense." He remarks. You feel slightly embarrassed by the blooming in your chest caused by his praise. You try to sit up on the table, clutching your abdomen as it aches terribly. Poseidon's frown deepens as he holds you still with one hand.

"Didn't you hear what I said? Troublesome..." He lets out a deep sigh before moving you back down on the table, forcefully but not unkindly.

"Thank you...for coming here." You tell him. Poseidon hums again and turns to walk out of the infirmary. He pauses for a moment at the doorway.

"You did good." He leaves you with that and you wonder if you might see him again.

Buddha

You wait just inside the hall that stands before the wide doors, anticipating the moment Heimdall would call your name. You should be completely confident and ready to fight for the gods but you hesitated to even bring yourself out of your quarters.

You knew you would have to go to battle, just as your parents expected, rather demanded of you. Second thoughts are foreign to gods; they usually do what they feel at that split second. But something in your consciousness told you that this isn't right. Contrary to your family's beliefs, you did not believe humans were completely weak, selfish creatures. They definitely make some bad decisions at times but they also make good, inventive, and empathetic ones. They're entirely complex and you couldn't find a solid reason to want to fight one of the humans you've tried so hard to help for centuries.

Your parents, well-admired gods themselves, drove it into you that you had to do what was right for the gods and to disregard any pathetic feelings you had for humans. You tried to do as they said, but their hold on you was shaken when Buddha declared that he would fight for the humans. Everyone knew he was the kind of god that did whatever the hell he wanted, but it was still surprising that any god would stick their neck out for the fate of humans.

But who else would do such a reckless yet altruistic thing besides him? You haven't seen him often since you live in different realms but the few times that the various gods have come together, you have admired him from afar. He didn't listen to anyone or anything but himself and you wish you had that kind of courage.

You begin to hear Heimdall announce your entrance and the doors slowly open. You force yourself to walk out on steady feet. You hear the gods cheering for their soon to be champion. Some of the humans boo in disgust or shake their head in anger, but the emotion that strikes you the most is fear. It's bursting out of the eyes of many and their worst case scenario would be closer to confirmed if you fight against them today. You hate that look and resolve to replace it with more peaceful feelings.

"Fighting for the gods is-" Heimdall shouts but stops at your tapping on his shoulder.

"About that..." You whisper the rest of your intentions into his ear before taking a step back. Heimdall's hands quiver on the Gjallarhorn and he screeches, 'Not again!'

"It looks like our competitor for the gods will be switching over to the humans side! Oooh, management isn't gonna like this..." Heimdall clutches his head as if he has a major migraine. There's only a seconds pause before the crowd starts yelling. The gods' side is naturally furious at your betrayal while the humans are excited to have a god fighting for them.

Your eyes glance over to the stands and you immediately find your parents disapproving faces. They are surely going to have a word with you after this, if they could anyways assuming you survive battling another god. You try to peel your eyes away from them, and find yourself drawn over to the guffawing god who has his head thrown back in glee.Buddha stands back up, meeting your gaze and sending you a wink. Before you can figure out how to respond to him, your opponent steps out into the arena.

The god that slithers before you is lean but extremely tall. He must be over 20 feet tall and he grins maliciously at you with all sharp teeth. You don't waste any time and begin attacking the other god. He slips out of the way easily, though some of your hits manage to hurt him as he scurries away. His bites sink into your limbs but you try not to let it phase you too much. You respond by striking harder and faster.

Just as you think you have the upper hand, the other gods' silver staff comes to life and you can't move out of the way in time before its jaws clamp down on your entire leg. It rolls you around like an alligator, teeth sinking in past the bone. You cry out in pain and as it tries to twist you again, you shove your fingers under its jaw and painstakingly pry it open. You succeed in pulling it open enough to slip your leg out but it leaves your fingers a mangled mess.

You curse and drag yourself a few inches away, trying to bring yourself to stand up despite the immense pain. Your betrayal would be all for nothing if you died here. Your opponent cackles and lunges towards your position. You throw yourself out of the way and use the momentum to thrust your weapon forward, cutting him down where he stands. He howls and shakily tries to grab at you but the strikes keep coming and don't stop until he's a bloodied puddle on the ground.

You inhale sharply, stumbling back until your legs fall out from underneath you. As your body hits the ground, the humans cheer in delight for your victory. Most of the gods grumble and talk amongst themselves. You let out a few shaky laughs, feeling more delirious as blood leaks out of your leg. The medics take hold of your nearly limp body and you end up passing out in their arms.

Images of your family rebuking you and casting you out flash in your mind as you sleep. You thought you made the right decision and yet you can't help but think about what your parents will say.

You slowly stir and can still feel the throbbing pain in one of your legs and your hand, only a little less intense. You sigh and ease your way up to sit on the table, only to come face to face with Buddha.

"Want one?" He grins and offers you a sucker. Before you can respond, he lightly flings the stick at you and you luckily grab it before it smacks you in the face. You mumble a 'thanks' and start opening the wrapper.

"Who would've thought? The child of warriors, fighting for the humans." Buddha teases and you look down at your bandaged hand.

"I'm not sure that was the right thing to do." You confess. He leans his arm down on the table so that you can smell the sweet scent of his candy.

"Really now? Tell me then, how do you feel?" Buddha asks and you look at him in confusion.

"Besides the searing pain in my leg? I guess..." You take a moment to introspect. While you are worried about your family's reactions, you also take pleasure in the rising security in humanity's fate. "...content, but also troubled." You ignore Buddha's 'blegh' at your last word.

"Leaving humans to defend their own fate is what my parents want." You add.

"Is that what you want?"

"It doesn't matter what I want-"

"If that's the case, you wouldn't have gotten your leg chewed up for them." Buddha says as he takes your non-injured hand and pops the sucker in your mouth for you. "You're fighting for what you believe in, no one else. That's a good thing."

You nod slowly. You aren't sure that you can immediately come to terms with that but it's certainly something to think about.

"Take it easy. You worked hard." Buddha says before strolling off towards the door. He turns back for a moment, striking blue eyes looking at you from above his glasses. "See ya around."

#record of ragnarok #ror #record of ragnarok x reader #ror x reader #ror poseidon x reader #ror buddha x reader #ror poseidon #ror buddha #x reader

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wardenparker · 1 year

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 1

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.

Rating: Mature Word Count: 6.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Canon typical violence, death, gun use, angst. Jack has a temper and Tequila has a dumb first name. Summary: A mission gone wrong ends with disastrous consequences for Jack, but Champ has a plan. A plan to change your life forever. Notes: Welcome to soulmate story number six, everyone! I’m so, so excited to dive in here because I adore Jack. Keri and I are moving ahead with full steam on this story and we can’t wait to see what you all think of it!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

Statesman, the independent intelligence agency, probably has some of the most up-to-date intel that anyone could ever want. Most times. Right now, that isn't the case. Ducking down behind a flipped over table, Jack – Agent Whiskey – rips off the broken frames of the glasses that not only fed him information but also scanned anyone for weapons and allowed his oversight team to see what he was seeing. A little bit of 'through the looking glass' magic.

"Now, damnit Ginger, I'm not trying to be difficult, but I need to know how the fuck to get out of here." Jack growls into the minuscule microphone that is imbedded into the earpiece that allowed her to talk directly into his ear. He glances at a body that is laying nearby, limbs sprawled with his eyes open and lifeless. The target that he had been after but someone else had started shooting up the place before he could reach him.

“You’ve been made, Whiskey, you need to get out of there.” It might be a little bit of stating the obvious, but Ginger’s even tone comes through his ear piece loud and clear. “What’s your clearest exit?”

"Does it look like I know?" Jack huffs, rolling his eyes even though the Statesman tech couldn't see him as he takes a chance and sticks his head up to scan the area for the nearest exit. The rapid burst of gunfire makes him duck back down, wood from the table splintering above his Stetson. "Southeast corner."

“Get out through the kitchen.” Ginger orders, clicking through floor plans and security cameras at her desk at lightning speed. “Through the kitchen, out the delivery bay doors, and left when you hit the alley. That will put you in the parking lot. Grab a car and get to the hell back to the Silver Pony.” The end of this mission has gotten messier than Champ will like, and extraction is their best option until a new strategy can be decided on. It’s ugly, but it happens sometimes. That’s one of the hazards of their line of work.

"Copy." Jack hunches down a little more when another barge of gunfire erupts, this time he feels the tug of a bullet as it tears through the wood and punches a hole through his hat. "Didn't think y'all'd give me a second." He grumbles, reaching for the pair of pearl handled .44 revolvers that are tucked into his holsters. Flipping them easily by the trigger guards as more of a habit than anything else, the weight of them is familiar and steady in his hands.

"Gonna hit the sprinklers and fire alarms in five seconds, Jack." The warning is the best Ginger can do for him, knowing that the ensuing chaos will confuse and disorient the enemies shooting at Jack and give him just a few seconds to get across the room while they adjust to something new happening around them. "Five...four...three...two...one!"

The distraction is just the window that he needs. Springing out from behind the compromised cover to start shooting. Jack's aim is true, taking down two of the people shooting at him with quick pulls of the triggers under his fingers. Three pounds of pressure to pull the hammer back and fire, custom designed for him for better rate of fire in a pinch. Those targets down, Jack starts to dash through the spraying water, the alarms starting to blare out to warn of a fire that isn't there but the system thinks it is.

The double doors into the hotel kitchen slam open, expelling Jack into the crowded, overheated room full of clamoring cooks getting ready for dinner service. A radio blaring in one corner and more than a dozen people shouting to each other had covered most of the noise of gunshots, but there's no mistaking their surprise when the mustachioed cowboy falls through the doors into their domain.

Jack’s eyes are darting around the room, seeking out a potential threat and when he doesn’t find one, he starts running for the door on the opposite side of the long galley.

Most people jump out of the way, some brandishing the knives in their hands as defensive weapons and others hide behind prep tables. The blaring alarm has now made its way to the kitchen, and everyone not cowering or weakly defending themselves is now trying to cover the food they have been cooking from being destroyed by the water splashing down from the ceiling. There is shouting and chaos, but no one dares to stop the cowboy running at full speed down the length of the kitchen.

“Ginger!” Jack shouts, even though he doesn’t have to as he pushes out of the doors that lead to the dock and loading bay. “Where to—” His words break off as he sees the glint of a gun out of the corner of his eye, reacting without even hesitating. Twirling around and his weapons fire on instinct.

"Jack?" Ginger's voice echoes in his ear as the man whirls around to see two bodies drop to the pavement behind him. One had a gun outstretched, the crisp lines of his suit wrinkled under the force of the shot that sent him falling backward. The other pitched into the wall before he fell – chef's jacket stained crimson with his own blood. "Jack! Are you hit?" She asks, voice more determined and edging on nervous.

Jack’s blood rushes to his ears, making Ginger sound like she is underwater. Or maybe it’s him that is drowning. It’s suddenly hard to breath, the seeming sucked from his lungs as he sways on his feet for a heart stopping moment. The impact of what he has just done crashing over him.

“Jack? Jack!” Ginger’s voice in his ear makes his vision sharpen from where it had gone fuzzy, bringing him back to the moment.

“Ginger Ale.” Jack chokes out. “I—shit, I just shot a civilian.”

"Shit." For a woman who rarely ever curses, the impact of it doubles coming from Ginger. "Get out of there, Jack. I'll send in Gamma Team to clean up. But I don't want you being part of the cleanup. You hear me?"

A civilian. Shit. Champ is going to be furious.

******

“Jason Howe, 36, born in Northwood, New Hampshire on April 4th.”

Jack winces and curls his hand into a fist as he stands in front of the conference room table. Not having been invited to sit, nor to have the glass of ‘67 Statesman Reserve that Champ has sitting in a glass at his elbow. A drink that Jack desperately needs. “Champ, there was a gun.” Jack defends, although he knows it’s a weak excuse. Statesmen take out the bad guys, not hurt the innocent. And Jack’s killed a bystander who had nothing to do with anything.

"You've been off since Cambodia, Jack." And although Champ knows exactly why, it can't be considered an excuse. He looks back down at the file on the conference table and frowns, then keeps reading. "Two siblings. Parents both living. Soulmate so far unknown." The older man looks up, locking his eyes on Jack. "We're tracking her down."

“Why?” Jack demands, frowning at the mere idea. Statesman had never tracked down a soulmate of anyone before, why start now? “We don’t know who it is, or if they care.” He scoffs. “Better to let sleepin’ dogs lie.”

“I don’t blame you for not noticing.” Champ sighs and shakes his head before finally motioning for Jack to sit. The man is his best senior agent, his quickest set of reflexes, and his closest friend. Frankly, Champ is worried about the upheaval in Jack’s life lately. It’s affecting his perception on a base level, not to mention his work. “You didn’t come out of that fire fight unscathed, and your adrenaline was too damn high for the pain to get through to you.” Running one hand down his face, Champ huffs slightly as he sips from his own whiskey glass but still doesn’t offer Jack any. “The back of your right arm. Just above your elbow. You have a new mark, Jack.”

“Bullshit.” Jack spits, furious at the implication of what Champ is saying. “My soulmate is dead.” He reminds the older man, as if he wasn’t well aware. Hell, Champ was the one who had recruited Jack to Statesman, so he was well aquatinted with his backstory. Until this moment, he would have called the man a friend. Maybe his best friend, even though Tequila likes to claim that’s his title. “Been dead and gone for years. So there ain’t no marks on my body.”

“I don’t mean to say anything against her memory.” Champ holds up one hand in a defensive posture. With the other, he gestures to the large mirror on the conference room wall. “Roll up your sleeve and take a look for yourself. Ginger noted the appearance of scars from minor cuts and bruises and a small tattoo on your arm. None of these marks were found on the civilian that was killed or any of the other dead men that Gamma Team cleaned from the scene. Following protocols, we’re now tracking down any and all soulmates and searching databases for your exact set of new marks.” He knows it isn’t good news. It isn’t good for the agency, and it isn’t good for Jack. But, despite it being a long shot, it is now more likely than not that someone out there shares these marks with him. And that makes her both a liability and a potential target. Whoever she is.

Fuck.” Jack hisses bitterly, his shoulders jerking as he shuffles out of his sports coat and tosses it down so he can start rolling up his sleeve. “Can’t Ginger remove it?” He demands, not wanting marks on his body. He hasn’t had any since the day Abigail died and he doesn’t want some other woman’s scars or tattoos on his skin either. He doesn’t have a soulmate and he doesn’t want one.

“Soulmate scars don’t work like that.” He knows Jack knows it, but he also understands the younger man’s distress as he tears his sleeve back to inspect his skin. “As far as Ginger’s nanites are concerned, that’s just your skin. No imperfections about it.”

“Who gets a goddamn tattoo on the back of their elbow?” Jack growls, twisting his arm around before he catches sight of the ink. “I don’t want another soulmate. This needs to be broken.” Tattoos and scars were things that could get an agent killed. Identifying marks, things that nanites fixed to conceal their real identities. Even agent’s soulmates had their scars removed if they were together.

“How exactly do you propose to do that?” Champ asks, raising one incredulous eyebrow at his friend. “Soulmate bonds are only broken by death, Jack. You know that as well as anyone. So unless you’re intendin’ on killing this girl just for existing, I’m afraid you’re shit out of luck.”

For one horrifying split second, Jack considers it. In his grief and rage at having his original soulmate, his wife, he thinks about killing another innocent person. “Jesus Christ.” He manages, body sagging and slumping in disgust at himself and overwhelming sadness. “I— I can’t—” Looking helplessly up at Champ, his eyes are filled with pain. “I can’t be someone else’s soulmate.”

“No one’s askin’ you to drop everything and bring whoever this woman is back to the ranch and start your life over.” At this, and Jack’s defeated shoulders, Champ finally pours two fingers of ‘67 Reserve into a clean glass and slides it across the table to Jack. “We’re gonna find her, and she’s gonna be under Statesman protection. That’s how we’re gonna handle this to start out with. Until we know more about her, the best thing we can do for your safety and hers is keep her close.”

“Why the fuck was this Jason Howe outside?” Jack snatched up the glass, pissed that because of one cook’s inability to be in the damn kitchen where he belonged, he’s burdened with a soulmate he doesn’t want. Is he victim blaming and deflecting? Yes, he is. But he doesn’t care right now. The whiskey burns on the way down and Jack sighs in appreciation of that fact.

“Smoke break.” Champ shrugs, knowing that why doesn’t really matter. “Gamma found his DNA on two cigarette butts nearby.”

There’s a sarcastic comment about how smoking kills somewhere rattling around in his brain, but Jack can’t bring himself to voice it. Not when he knows he is to blame, he had reacted and didn’t take a split second to make sure it wasn’t someone innocent nearby. He had done this and it weighs heavily. Nearly as heavy as his wife’s death and he hadn’t been directly responsible for that - though he felt guilty.

Shifting back in his chair, Champ surveys the agent in front of him as an agent rather than his friend, and he drains the rest of his glass in one go. “You have to come out of the field for a while,” he tells Jack firmly. There’s no room for debate here. “Psych eval, incident investigation, and that mark on your arm all have to be addressed before we can get you back out.”

Jack’s jaw rocks, immediately wanting to argue but he knows Champ. There’s no getting around this. He’ll be out of the field until the man gives his stamp of approval and not a moment before. “Had no problem throwing out the Golden Circle but now this is a problem?” He growls, stomping around the table to snatch a bottle of Statesman ‘72 off the bar cart. “Let me know when I gotta talk to the head doctors. Until then, I’m drinkin’.”

“I can’t get you out of this one because I threw my weight around on the Golden Circle case.” Champ huffs, not wanting to cause a fight but ready to have this conversation if need be. “I’m not worried ‘bout you passing, Jack. It’s just gotta get done.” The real concern is the black ink on the back of his arm – a hearts playing card with a teacup where the ace would be and the words ‘Curioser and curioser’ encircling it. While he carries that mark, he’s a danger in the field.

Snorting, Jack turns on his heel, grabbing his jacket off the chair and flicking a mocking two finger salute at Champ. “Sure thing, Champagne,” he huffs, knowing how much the full code name chosen for him irritates him. “I’m on desk duty.”

Champ huffs again, annoyed at Jack for being seemingly even less mature than Tequila in realizing that this isn’t a punishment, it’s caution. “And you’ll stay that way,” he grumbles as the door slams shut behind Whiskey’s retreating figure. “Goddamn stubborn donkey’s ass.”

Jack’s boots slap against the floors as he stomps down the hall. Several agents sidestep and move on the other side, warily eyeing the fierce scowl on his face.

The sound is unmistakable, and Tequila has been waiting to hear it since Jack had reported to Champ a half hour ago. He situated himself in Jack’s office almost immediately after, not really knowing what would happen but figuring that his friend might want to rant about something or go for a drink after. Civilians don’t exactly get caught in the crossfire every day – and Jack takes that kind of thing personally.

The door swings open and Jack pins Tequila with a hard stare. “Get out.” He huffs, striding over to the desk and slamming the bottle down on the hundred year old oak before he turns around to his own wet bar to get a glass.

“Guessin’ Champ ain’t too happy?” Tequila stands from the chair he had been occupying but makes no movement to leave. He’s known Whiskey too long and thinks too well of him to just up and abandon the man.

Jack doesn’t answer, grabbing the cut crystal glass and setting it down a little too forcefully before he picks up the bottle to pull the cork out and pours himself a double.

“Takin’ that as a ‘no, he ain’t’.” Stretching awkwardly, Tequila crosses his arms and watches Jack for a few seconds before he tries again. “There’s a couple of new girls leading tours who’ve been hinting at wanting dates,” he offers, knowing that that usually perks the older agent up a little. “We could blow off some steam tonight?” Mostly he’s just not sure that leaving Jack alone is going to be good in any way.

“Not interested.” Jack grunts, stomach rolling with guilt and anger. “God damnit!” He slams the glass down on the desk and his hand shoots out to sweep the neatly stacked files off the desk to scatter across the floor. Not like he wouldn’t have time to reorganize them anyway.

“Shit, Jack. What the fuck did Champ say?” Whiskey might have a temper, sure, but he usually just blows off his steam at the firing range or with a one-night stand. He’s not the type to go destroying things for fun or catharsis. Tequila steps forward warily, like he’s dealing with a spooked horse instead of his upset friend. “You know you can tell me. We can figure shit out.”

“There’s no ‘figuring it out’, Tex.” Jack snarls, well aware of the fact that Tequila hates his given name and prefers to go by his code name. “Apparently I inherited the civilian’s soulmate.”

“Fuuuck…” Tequila’s jaw drops so hard that his ass ends up back in the chair he has been sitting in only a minute ago. “How the hell does that happen?”

“Fuck if I know.” Jack blows out, reaching up to start unbuttoning his shirt. He needs to examine himself to see what other fucking marks this mystery woman has ‘gifted’ him with.

“Second soulmates are supposed to be a myth…” Anybody who knows a single thing about Jack Daniels knows about Abigail, and the fact that he lost her more than twenty years ago. A bit like anyone who knows him knows he was a rodeo man.

“Second soulmates are lies you tell the poor son of a bitch who’s burying his sweetheart.” Jack spits bitterly, remembering the bullshit people had spouted at him in the name of making him ‘feel better’. It hadn’t worked. “Not needed or wanted.”

“Looks like they ain’t lies at all.” Tequila hunches forward in his seat when Jack peels away his shirt and makes a noncommittal sound at the black-inked image on the back of his arm. “Weird place for it,” he comments, inching closer to get a better look.

“Fucking stupid is what it is.” Had Jack been admiring the tattoo on a woman, one he had in bed or aiming to get into bed, his opinion would have been different. But this was ink on his body. Even the tattoo he had gotten after Abigail and Tim died had to be removed when he joined Statesman.

Tequila squints a second before letting out a half-hearted chuckle. “It’s Alice in Wonderland,” he informs the other man once he remembered what the damn quote was all about. “Guess she likes to read.”

“Champ wants to find this woman.” Jack huffs, rolling his eyes and looking towards the mirror that is attached to the bathroom door. Looking for anything else.

“You don’t?” He probably sounds more surprised than he is, but if it were him - Tequila would sure as hell want to find the woman the universe says he’s supposed to love and cherish for the rest of his life. Even if all he had was a platonic soulmate, he would still want to know them. To have that connection and closeness. A friend that means so much they become his family. “Not sayin’ you hafta marry her, Jack, but damn. I mean…she’s got a target painted on her now if anyone ever finds out. Shouldn’t Statesman keep her safe?”

If it was anyone else, Jack would say that the protection of Statesman was necessary, but he can’t bring himself to say it. He knows that Champ and Tequila are right, this person – whoever she is – deserves to be safe because of who he is. Instead of answering, Jack pours himself another drink.

“Right.” Nodding at Jack’s silence, Tequila adjusts his Stetson and raps his knuckles once on the large oak desk. “I’ll see you in the morning, then?” It’s the end of the day and he’s presuming that Jack will be drinking his supper tonight. Which is a fair bet, all things considered.

There’s defeat in Jack’s stance, unable to gather his thoughts properly. Work was easy, it didn’t involve his heart and this was everything to do with it. When Jack still says nothing, Tequila stands and turns to move towards the door. “What does it say?” Jack asks quietly, staring down at the empty glass and wishing he was already wasted. “That I’ve got marks on my body again? What does it say about my love for my wife?”

“I don’t know what it says about her,” Tequila admits, turning again to face his friend. “But I think it says that you deserve a chance to be happy again. And from everything you’ve ever told me about Abigail?” He shrugs slightly, glancing down at the framed photograph of the two of them that he knows Jack keeps in pristine condition on his desk at all times. “Seems to me she’d be more upset at you closin’ yourself off than at the universe givin’ you an ass kicking.”

Shame fills Jack, knowing that Tequila had hit the nail on the head. Abby woulda torn into his hide for the thoughts he had about this new soulmate without ever meetin her. Or setting his beautiful, fiery wife up on a pedestal.

“You don’t have to do anything about it.” Tequila says again, knowing that most people in the world see their soulmate as their mandatory partner. Their person as ordained by the universe. Jack had already had that, and it’s not hard to see that he doesn’t find a repeat experience to be necessary. “But at least let Champ protect her. She didn’t ask for this anymore than you did.”

“It’s my fault.” Jack murmurs already pouring another three fingers of whiskey and staring at it for a moment before he takes another swallow. “I killed her soulmate, so the universe is punishing me. Punishing us both.”

“It ain’t a punishment necessarily.” Sensing the tide turning in the conversation, Tequila drops his hat on the side of Jack’s desk and grabs himself a glass before sitting down again. “Not all soulmates are romantic, and not all soulmates are perfect. Maybe you inherited her marks so you can protect her? Who knows.”

There it is. The crux of the problem. “Can’t protect her. Don’t even know her.” Jack huffs. “Couldn’t protect the woman I loved. The woman I would die for. Shoulda died for.” He would have traded places with her in an instant if it meant Abby and Sam were safe and still roaming the earth. It would have been the easiest decision he’s ever made.

“Then stay away.” The younger man suggests instead. Pouring himself a short drink and sitting back, he offers Jack a shrug. “Let Champ protect her once he finds her, and don’t tell her who you are. What you are to her. Let her live her life. I don’t pretend to have the answers, man. But I can help you piece this whole thing out.”

Staying away sounds like a solid plan. “I’ll be back out in the field anyway.” He rationalizes, imagining that it will be just a week or two before Champ needs him. Who’s to say that this woman even wants a soulmate? She hadn’t found the Jason Howe fella. “Sometimes that bean between your ears actually works.” Jack grunts with a whisper of a grin.

“Don’t worry.” That gets a hearty laugh from the younger man, and Tequila raises his glass in salute before he takes a sip. “I won’t let it go to my head.”

Jack snorts and drowns the rest of his drink and pours himself another before he slides the bottle towards Tequila. “Good.” He jokes. “Otherwise your hat won’t fit.”

******

By every Monday morning you’re always dragging. The restaurant was packed with reservations all weekend long and you probably burned off another fingerprint trying to do the sugar work for the dark chocolate salted caramel tarts that chef insisting on adding to the menu ahead of the new year. They’re beautiful, and delicious, but sugar work is tricky with an overblown wind bag shouting over your shoulder all night. The house is bustling this morning, though, and you have your niece on your hip while you sip your morning coffee and your mother in the other room is singing songs with your nephew. The dog is somewhere, the cat is on the windowsill, and your sister is finally getting her morning shower in after getting up early with the kids because they wanted to see Daddy off to work. There’s enough going on that you almost didn’t even hear your cell phone ring in your pocket. Almost.

Champ taps the file that Ginger had given to him, listening to the ringing in his ear. The soulmate had been found, surprisingly quickly to his delight. While it was assumed that no one knew about the soulmate connection between this woman in the packet and his senior field agent, but never guaranteed. Now he just needs to pitch the winning game to get her to Kentucky.

You almost don't pick up - who would be calling you from Louisville, Kentucky? - but eventually decide that you're curious enough to answer. At the worst you'll have a two-minute conversation with a telemarketer. There are worse things in the world. "Hello?" You press your phone to your ear and shift your niece a little higher on your hip with your other hand.

Clearing his throat, Champ says your name jovially. “Champ Rogers here, happy to get you on the phone, how are you doing this fine morning, darlin’?” Some might take offense to the antiquated word of endearment, but he has a feeling you won’t.

"I'm doing well, thanks." The funny face you make at the one-year-old hugging your side makes it almost sound like you're laughing, the smile coming through in your voice. "I'm not sure I know who you are, though, Mr. Rogers. What can I do for you?"

“Apologies, miss.” Champ shakes his head at himself chuckles. He knows a lot more about you than you do him, although that’ll change if he can help it. “I’m lookin’ for a pastry chef and the head hunter I’ve paid more money than God handed me your resume and said you’d be a good fit.”

"Oh!" Well, that's unexpected. Your head nearly snaps up from sticking your tongue out at your favourite little girl and a frown wrinkles your forehead a second later. "And...where did you say you were calling from?" He didn't, but you don't want to be rude. If he's looking for a personal pastry chef or a one-time catering gig, then Kentucky is a little far for you to travel.

“Kentucky, ma’am.” Champ spins around in his chair and looks out from the top of the infamous bottle that houses his office down at the distillery below. “I run a little outfit called Statesman.” Technically Jack’s CEO on paper, but Champ has final say.

"Statesman like the distillery?" Like your father's favourite whiskey that he's been drinking your entire life and there's always a bottle in the house at all times? Statesman is head hunting you? "Without meaning to seem rude, why exactly would a distillery need a pastry chef?"

Smart as a whistle. Champ grins, delighted that Jack’s new soulmate seems to have a firm head on her shoulders. “Well, we have a little tour operation here. We have around one point three million folks file through our distillery, and I’ve been wantin’ to jazz it up a bit. Offer more than just peanuts with the whiskey tasters.”

"I see." Leaning back against the counter, you lean over and press a kiss to your niece's thin hair while you chew on your bottom lip. It is a hell of an offer, but it seems like it's coming out of left field. Not that you're going to complain about being sought after - that would be the epitome of looking a gift horse in the mouth - and honestly you're pretty damn curious. "What exactly did you have in mind, Mr. Rogers?"

Champ winces at the formality and the way the use of his legal title sits wrong on him, like an ill-fitting hat. “Pastries. Cakes and creams that use our whiskey. Fruit tarts and those little sandwiches. Somethin’ that’ll make the womenfolk happy and I’ve got a space that I want to have set up to make it an experience they can’t get anywhere but Statesman.”

"You want to have...boozy tea party food?" It's so hard not to sound excited when that's right up your alley with the exact kind of baking you already love to do. "Well, I certainly appreciate the call." And since you've never been head hunted before in your entire fucking life, you really don't know what could possibly come next. "And the position you're looking to fill is...an assistant? Sous chef?" There's no way one of the biggest distilleries in the entire country is calling to offer you a brand new executive chef position making your dream food. That would be insane.

“I don’t know what a Sous chef is.” Champ huffs, his accent butchering the word. “I want someone to run the damn thing. Make up the menus to make mouths water.” He feels like your interest might not be enough to get you here. “Tell you what?” Champ grins. “How ‘bout I send the jet to pick you up and you come on over to the distillery and see what you’d be workin’ with?” He offers. “Take the tour, see the space I want to turn into a restaurant and we can see if you think it’s a good fit?”

"The j-jet?" You stutter out the word in disbelief, eyes flying up to catch your mother's as she walks into the kitchen with your nephew in tow – only to immediately give him the quiet signal a second later when she sees you on your phone. "I, uh—" Breathe, you remind yourself aggressively. "I assume you'll want to see what I can do, as well? A headhunter is all well and good, Mr. Rogers, but if you're going to show me your space, I should at least be making you a few sample recipes while I'm there." It's all so much to take in and you're nearly overwhelmed at the enormity of it. This sounds like a dream. Way, way too good to be true.

“Please, call me Champ.” He insists, almost pained at hearing the name his father had been called for years. “Tell me what you need and I’ll make it happen. I’ll send you an email, how’s that sound? When do you think you could be here? Jet can be where you are in three hours.” The mention of a private jet always impresses, and he notices it had an effect on you.

"Well...I do have some flexible time at the moment." Two days off from the restaurant in a row is what you've got, and your mind is buzzing with possibilities. "Three hours should be enough to prep a list and book a hotel in Louisville for a night." It will be the most expensive job interview you've ever taken, but really? You can't see passing this up. If nothing else, you'll get to take the distillery tour and bring a bottle back to your dad for his bar. An unexpected trip could be fun.

“Pishaw.” Champ scoffs. “No need for you to book a hotel, there’s a residence on the grounds where we can put you up. It would be yours if you accept the job.” He smirks at the idea.

"You're kidding." It escapes your lips before you can stop yourself, and you would facepalm if you had a free hand. "Out of curiosity, Champ," the informality would never fly in your restaurant kitchen, but you actually prefer it. "What exactly would this position pay?"

“Well darlin’,” Champ admires a woman who gets down to brass tacks. “Considerin’ you’d be responsible for the menu and the runnin’ of the kitchens, I was thinking that we would start you out at 90 with a guaranteed half a percent of all profits per quarter.” Champ offers off the top of his head. He’d only glanced at the baseline salary for an executive chef when he had thought of this – though it was a good idea. “How’s that sound?”

With your phone jammed between your cheek and your shoulder and reach for your mother, gripping her hand so tightly she actually flinches as your eyes nearly bug out of your head. The base line salary you were just quoted is more than twice what you're making now, and it would have profits on top of it, and it even comes with guaranteed housing. "That sounds...like a salary that comes with a lot of responsibility," you admit, when you can finally form a damn word on your own lips again. "You go ahead and send an email with the full job description and offer, and I will send you back a list of supplies to give you a fair view of what I can do. We'll see if my abilities fall in line with your vision for the next step forward at Statesman."

“That sounds like a fine plan.” Champ leans back in his chair, sure that he’s reeled you in. “I’ll be seeing you soon, ya hear?” He hangs up the phone and starts to chuckle to himself as he looks down at your picture in the file. Poor Jack is in for a rude awakening.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." The second your phone beeps and disconnects, you stare at it like a ghost has just popped out of it before looking back up at your mother in wonder. "I just...got a job offer. For the most insane job of all time." Shoving the electronic back into your pocket, you shift your niece in your arms and place a kiss on her little head before setting her down in her highchair at the kitchen table and slumping down beside her to grab your now-cold coffee. "Oh my god."

“What in the world is going on?” Moving over to the coffee maker, your mother reaches for her own cup. It’s a routine that you two have coffee while she watches the babies for your sister.

"Apparently a head hunter got a hold of my resume and passed it on to the head of the Statesman Distillery in Kentucky." It's the most unbelievable sentence you've ever said in your life, and you fall back in your chair with a dazed look on your face. "They want to expand their food offerings for tours and events, apparently? They want me to go down there and look at the facility. Mom...that phone call was offering me an executive position."

“An executive position? To do what? Run the bakery?” Your mom turns and leans against the counter so she can sip on her black coffee. “To develop recipes?”

"Develop the entire menu, run the bakery, help roll out this whole new entertaining program for the distillery." Cold coffee is still coffee, and you drink yours slowly just so you don't choke on the drink your excitement. "The job comes with on premises housing and pays more than twice what I make now." The number he quoted is enough to boggle your mind all over again. "They're sending a private jet to pick me up and bring me down there for this interview and lord I hope this is not just some weird scam."

Your mom’s eyes widen and she frowns. “I – you should call the distillery. Ask some questions to make sure. Who sends a jet for a chef?” She doesn’t mean to sound harsh, but it strikes her as extremely odd.

"It sounds too good to be true." Your shoulders drop, and your eyes track down to stare into your coffee. "He's supposed to be sending me an e-mail with flight info and the job offer. It either won't come through or it'll be fake. But at least then I'll have two days off to wallow in the amazing job I almost had."

As if to argue, your phone dings with an email notification. Your mom sighs. “Sweetie— I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so negative. I don’t know how this works in big corporations.” She feels guilty, like she’s stolen your happiness away and you deserve all the joy you can find.

"No, you're just being realistic." Neither of your parents are particularly negative people. You'd call them realistic optimists, if you had to give it a title. They always try to look at the best parts of very practical situations. You pull your phone from your pocket and tap on the e-mail, studying it carefully for any signs of fraud or imitation. "What do you think?" You ask your mother, turning your cell around to let her read what just came through. Decades in journalism have given her a pretty good eye for detective work.

She studies the email carefully and looks up at you. “This looks legitimate.” She admits after a moment, a smile cracking her face. “Keep your phone on you, check in with us, but I think you should go for it.”

"He wants me to make four samples for the interview." Taking your phone back, you can feel the excitement rising all over again. There's nerves there, and a little bit of fear of the unknown, but mostly a giddy amount of glee rising from the tips of your toes all the way up to the top of your head. Moving a thousand miles away from your family for a job wasn't exactly a possibility on your radar, but if this job is for real? You'd be foolish not to do it. "I guess...I guess I need to figure out what I'm going to make and send off a supply list and then pack."

“You go do that.” Your mom takes your coffee cup and grins at you. Would she miss you if you took the job? Absolutely. But this is too good of a chance for you to get out of your current restaurant. “Just think— your own kitchen where no one can yell at you.”

"And if that isn't the dream, I don't know what is." With hugs and kisses for your niece and nephew, you start to hustle out of the room but stop in the living room doorway and turn back around. "What do you think about doing Grandma Jane's coconut cake as cupcakes and adding bourbon to the cream cheese frosting?" If Statesman wanted booze in their desserts, you sure as hell weren't going to pass up the chance to present it with the family's coveted cake recipe.

“If they don’t give you the job based on that alone, they are fools.” Your mother huffs, giving you an encouraging smile. “You’ll knock them dead.”

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3

DtRH: @haileymorelikestupid @spishsstuff @missmarmaladeth @axshadows @a-gay-cryptid @sgt-morgan @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @flowers4copper @ghost-timelord @the0racl30fd3lphidos @all-the-way-down-here @bobafvcker @ficsbynight @dinoflower @supernaturalgirl20 @xdaddysprincessxx @bobawh0re @amiee-mitch18 @darkhairedmenrule @heyyimlaynna @strawberry-f4iry @3zm33atzbuss33 @whataghost @cyber666slut @nobody-000 @eddiemunsonsgirlfriendirl @lucciolaraven @powergirlsupremacy @secondsistershelby @dreadmars @androgynoushellscape @soytomatecherry @cheesecake-massacre @mylifeisbasedonashow @idiotickiddo @tomfeltonisbae @maratheidiot22 @im-nada @everybirdfellsilent @deepdarkdelights @brokenwhitegirl384 @ur-honey-child @caseket @copperrose15 @we-could-have-been @valkyries-ride @scarletmunson @strawberriricemilk @ghost-timelord @galactigoos @floridawaters @cutiepie6473 @pinball-vance @theslytherinwriter @scorpioswonder @stankyleg05 @fxdsketches @sad-innit @coffeyorky @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @starlordsonlywife @aura626 @mistresskei @marv3lwhor3 @sadimusprimee @yourwonderbelle @sgt-morgan @spot116 @milybaby018 @loserk1nks @artfulthoughtswp @aavw @babyrunsforfanfic @faceache111 @midnight-huntress @asimpleraccoonqueen @marki-moo0 @pages89 @rawr-bitches @rebel-fanfare @soooosha @luna-is-out-there @im-sylien @timpletance @certifiedhunter @ellenmunn @littlethief78 @tinalbion @eddy-y @tikibabi @whyidkok @bearcoon1666 @littlebirdsbookshelf @a-gay-cryptid @disaster-ahaha @viridiesa @axshadows @purplerain04 @karmarouge @holycyclehomo @sainteredhood @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @the-wishmonger @theliferuiner @raptorclaw24 @asp1r1ngm1lf @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @st4rl1ght444 @litholithium @tusk89 @youjustneedatherapist @nekodemon73 @iceclaw101 @lightningsface @shakespeareanwannabe @jasminemunson @spideysimpossiblegirl @wannabedaphne @sammus-white @jazzieomega @88dragon06 @ishabull @raquel-rial @tuquoquebrute @hotleaf-juice @dantaku @youokhoney @thisiswhyibleedsstuff @maximumkryptonitegladiator @jediknight122 @gadsgikklesen @movievillainess721 @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @the-strawberrythief @spishsstuff @choppedmugjudgeplaid @haileymorelikestupid @gooddaykate @missredherring @abyssal-zone-stares-back @supernaturalgirl @winterandstars @severewobblerlightdragon @missmarmaladeth @noisynaia @saintbedelia @algressman16 @eaks0710 @mina2000alex @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @akaleelanie @mishasminion360 @amneris21 @roxypeanut @sabbs118 @frasmotic @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @lovelychaos420 @1432690 @no1pornstachefan @thegrimreaperbitch @esmeensheep @izz-ayes-world @kittycatcait219 @loveyou3000tonystark @tintinn16 @igenerallytrynottogiveagoshdarn @motheroftorches @phoenixhalliwell @the-dazzling-urbanite @coffeyorky @trickstersp8 @victorian-cherub @julissadunn @clarysthing @the-girl-that-loves-many-fandoms @mastersurf @theghostofutopia @ncsls0515 @seraphinaivy @unnecesarysstuff @hiyorinatsuki @ghostofaboy @yn-hamato @elfwriter1088

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x female reader #Jack Whiskey Daniels #Agent Whiskey #Kingsman Golden Circle #soulmate au

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line-of-fire · 10 months

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Borealis: Fine! Judge all you want but... Borealis, points at Stetson: Married a lesbian. Borealis, points at Sweet Tea : Left a man at the altar. Borealis, points at Romeo : Fell in love with a gay ice dancer. Borealis, points at Spuds: Threw a girl’s wooden leg in a fire. Borealis, points at Hazard: Lives in a box!

#291: dna doesn’t make family #BOREALIS: one shot one kill #SWEET TEA: get ahold of yourself #ROMEO: hold onto hope #SPUDS: wild but loyal #STETSON: dangerous but fun #HAZARD: mountain born n raised #incorrect quotes: i didn’t fucking say that!

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morallyinept · 8 months

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Summary: Joel Miller comes back into your life unexpectedly after a gap of thirty years, and stirs up all kinds of memories and longing. Now, as you're stationed on an outpost for five days alone with the man you stupidly let go of all those years ago, you have a chance to confront him about your past life together and all the things you wished you’d said and done.

But Joel’s different now, and you know you need to tread carefully. Joel Miller is not the same man you once knew in another life.

A slow burn romance set in the post apocalyptic world, approx. twenty or so years after the initial Cordyceps outbreak.

Pairing: Post-Outbreak Joel Miller x MatureF!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. However reader is of a similar age range as Joel; in her late forties/early fifties. Joel is slightly older at 56.)

Chapter Word Count: 5.8k

Series Masterlist

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter notes: Slightly longer chapter as we start to get into the meat of this story as you and Joel are finally on your own together. Nothing too heavy to note. Teeniest, tiniest mention of self-harm.

Enjoy! 🖤

Previous Chapter

Sleep evaded you cruelly for most of the night. Lucid dreams that were unbidden, clawed at your subconscious mind and were unrelenting in their droves, and attempt to crush, what is left of your fragile mind.

Joel’s youthful face and his hands, ageing right before you until he was a pile of dust at your bloodied boots, blowing away through your fingers in the wind, haunted the delicate membranes of your sleep void inertia.

The sounds of his shaken voice echoed in your ears as he called your name to come back as you slammed hundreds of different coloured doors behind you. Feeling your heart, as it was pulverised into mush in your chest by a sledgehammer that he wielded, with sharp diamonds pouring out of his eyes.

You’re already irritable when you wake fully; your eyes feeling raw like sandpaper has been rubbed over them all night each time you blink. But you suck it up bravely despite the tension making your stomach ache and churn - you have to.

Endure and survive...

Once suitably awake and clean, outside in the commune the masses are gathering in a buoyant hubbub about the mission. Horses are stacked with supplies, groups are running over their parts to play in meticulous fashion.

You pass Tommy speaking with a bunch of guys and he nods, tipping his stark, yet grubby, Stetson as he regards you with a tight look. You’re still rocked by his rupturing revelations about Joel.

They still bite ceaselessly at your ankles.

You catch up with Kelper and the others, sharing a gentle but lingering hug with Guthrie, who's remaining behind with Maria and her fort going on lockdown, due to his injuries.

Taking your hand, he prays silently for you all to return unscathed and you indulge him in his plea to God out of respect; it carries a bleak, yet somewhat reassuring nihilism to some degree. If there is a God up there - although you're sceptical after the stunts He's pulled over the last twenty odd years - but if there is one, you hope he's really listening to Guthrie right now.

This is your family, and losing them is not an option anymore.

You squeeze Kelper’s hands in your own, then pull him into a binding embrace, choking back faceted tears that threaten to fall and rip down your face with their own jagged edges. But you’re steely in your grit not to let them.

Endure and survive.

He places a lingering kiss on your forehead and then another on your cheek.

"For God's sake, be careful." You plead, your hands refusing to uncoil from his; twisty, bony knots that crush.

"I'm coming back. I promise. So are you." Kelper assures you, and you know that stubborn bastard means it.

"I love you." You breathe.

"I know you do. I'm awesome." He replies, and you smile the way you always do when he comes back at you with that overused quip.

You glance back at Max and Sal - at the remains of your small, tattered clan, before you all separate into your assigned teams. Maybe Guthrie’s faith is rubbing off, but you silently pray to God yourself that they all return safely.

Even if it means that you don’t. It's a fair trade.

You reluctantly approach Joel, taking a sharp intake of breath that chills your teeth, despite the warmth of the sun this early in the morning. The knot in your gut weighs heavier somehow.

It stalls you for a moment; Tommy’s words rattling around your bruised skull, but you push it all down. If Joel wants you to know, he’ll tell you himself.

He's loading up a couple of horses; his broad back stretching out his green, plaid shirt, boosting up the worn leather knapsacks and belting the buckles tightly to the saddles.

It's abstractly peculiar to just observe him, how his hands work; how they're deft, yet seem so much bigger now than you remember. The horse brays, snuffling as you approach, and Joel pats it gently with those swamping hands.

"Easy, easy."

Joel shifts as he sees you, greeting him with a wary hello that sounds as small as you suddenly feel.

“Mornin’,” he replies dully, carrying on with the task at hand robotically. He doesn't look at you, you notice.

The whiskey he drank in abundance last night was a bad idea; his head feels like crushing lead, and despite fading into oblivion for a few measly hours, he’s still tired and jangled. Yammering thoughts of you kept him awake, staring at the ceiling as he willed them to give him some peace.

It’s like he could make you out, clear as day, floating above him and taunting him even though your apparition never spoke to him. It just stared at him for most of the fucking night; pulling out all of his demons to side with you, and it’s why he can’t look you in the eyes much this morning.

“He seems like a good man, Tommy says so.” He juts his chin over his broad shoulder to Kelper, startling you a little with the gruff tincture of his voice.

“He is." You smile. "Saved my ass countless times. And vice-versa.” You explain watching Kelper fade into the crowd with a heavy gut. “Want me to get that?” You point down at the other knapsack and Joel shakes his head.

“I got it.” He lifts it up, stepping around to the other side of your horse.

You pet and stroke the horse’s mane; a black mare that nudges her large head into your hands affectionately and you click and coo at her in return.

"She got a name?" You ask Joel. He shrugs and continues loading up.

She’s a beauty, and it makes you melt that there are still some things that are left untarnished by the fungal rot in the world.

“How’d ya cross paths?” Joel asks as he attaches the bag onto the saddle. He seems a little disinterested, like conversation with you is hard. But you regale him nonetheless.

“We had a group. Or rather, he did. And soon it became our group. He trusted me enough to let me make decisions, and mistakes, but it grew. We became a family. There were about sixty of us at one point. And now there’s five.” You remark bitterly.

You swallow thickly as you hear the screaming again inside your ears. The mare butts her head against yours as if she can hear it too.

Joel doesn’t say anymore, pausing to listen to you before he carries on loading up the tan stallion that’s his to ride.

But the tidal wave of the screaming, the panic, drowns you. The teeth coming at you as you shoot your way through the hysteria. But there are too many to boldly take on and your gun jams.

Run! RUN!

You remember Kelper's hand on yours, dragging you away. You grab a hold of Guthrie, exchanging the gun for his hand as you let it clatter to the ground that's filling with blood.

You're scrambling through the mottled tree bark. You spy Max and Sal bringing up the rear; white eyes and red faces, as Kelper takes you all deeper into the woods. Infected follow you, hot on your heels as you run; the oxygen waning and setting light to your papery lungs.

Your legs are giving out. Your ankles on fire…

“That can’t happen here.” You shake your head defiantly as you look around the commune coming back to a bleak reality. “What you guys have built and achieved here? Kelper, he won’t let you lose what we did. That's why he’s a good man.” You conclude, speaking as if in a trance.

“S’not enough of them around anymore.” Joel replies stoically.

“No. There is.” You say, looking at him and he turns away after he catches your intense gaze like it scalds him.

“Wouldn’t be so sure ‘bout that.” He mutters, leaving you to pull apart his toneless words.

After a time of readying the horses, time spent in awkward silence for the remainder between the both of you, Tommy announces for everyone to move out.

You shoot Kelper a small, reluctant wave and he returns it.

Five days. You can get through five days without him. Endure and survive.

You realise in all the time you’ve known Kelper, you’ve not once been separated from him, and those thoughts grow teeth and start to chomp with all the other gnarly, unsettling thoughts.

“Y’need a boost?” Joel offers as you attempt to get up on the mare.

“No, I got it.” You hook your foot in the stirrup and swing your other leg up and over, mounting the mare confidently. “This ain’t my first rodeo, cowboy.”

You smirk down at Joel who doesn’t smile back. Just shakes his head full of greying tufts, and mounts his stud with a little bit more of an aggrieved effort to get on the damned thing.

"Do you need a boost?" You smirk as you untangle the reins.

"Don't be a smartass." He grumbles with a deep frown.

You used to love it.

You wait, with pursed lips, steadying your horse as Joel hacks up beside you.

“Ya ready?” He asks you and you know inside that you’re anything but.

“Let's do this.” The weight in your gut still weighs you down in there. You're drowning right before him and he's completely oblivious.

You both watch as the other riders head out the gates first.

“Listen, I don’t suffer fools easily.” He says it coldly, as though you don’t know him, never knew him; as though you’re a stranger to him and you realise that's exactly what you are now.

It’s how he sees you. And the line couldn't be anymore clear as it is thick.

It’s a frank warning that rolls out of his dull, chapped lips and in a baritone that you don’t think you’ve ever heard in his voice before.

This Joel Miller is a complete stranger to you. He's wary of you, suspicious as he eyes you now, finally. That prominent frown creased in at the centre of his brow with brown eyes, that were once warm and inviting, that now coat a layer of ice over your skin.

You shudder as the prickles tear down your spine.

“We gotta communicate, work together. Don’t be foolish n’ take any risks, y'hear me? Ya do what I say when I say it.”

“I hear you, Joel.” You reply, staring straight ahead, teeth grinding. Your grip tightens on the reins.

“Just lay it on the line. That’s all I ask.” Joel says.

You wonder if he notices his double entendre. “Unscrupulous honesty it is then.” You smile.

You gulp. You think that he might regret telling you that.

“We gotta trust each other out there. I know it's been…" he sighs, or runs out of breath; you're not sure which as he trails off.

Then he looks back at you and it pierces you right down to the very core.

"Y’think you can do that?” He asks, with blown out curls billowing in the summer breeze, and you look back at him; at those deep chocolate eyes that are so familiar, yet so alien.

“I can.” You always trusted him back in the day when trust seemed so frivolous a thing. “I got your back, Joel. You got mine?”

Joel nods once, a small clip of his chin and starts on forward.

Taking a deep breath, you tap the sides of the mare gently with your heels as she trots forward, following after his tan stallion and out of the gates.

Riding on horseback it would take half a day to reach outpost three at a steady pace.

Joel rides slightly ahead; a rifle slung over his shoulder and a pistol in his belt holster. You've been afforded a gun of your own, a Glock, which is tucked in a similar holster on your own belt that Joel had handed to you once out of the gates of the commune.

You remembered turning back, one last look at Guthrie as those wooden gates locked and wouldn't open again until the threat was taken care of. Maria was battening down the hatches. If the infected got past you, if something went wrong, those gates were all that were left stopping them.

The knapsacks are loaded with supplies; food, water, ammunition, and yours bumps continually against the side of your thigh as the mare trots along.

The summer heat of a late June beams down on you, warming your scalp and you squint upward, closing your eyes and enjoying the warmth.

Stolen moments like this, a few seconds amongst the bloodied chaos, where you could remember to stop and appreciate the small things, is what kept you going throughout all of the carnage, the constant fighting for survival.

So you breathe in the morning air, feel the sun bake your face and appreciate that you're alive for a few seconds, even though some days you wish you weren’t.

When you open your eyes, Joel is glancing over his shoulder at you, scrutinising carefully; eyebrows pulled together. He turns away when you catch him.

You bristle, feeling the prickles on the back of your neck rise again and you rub them away.

“So, this is weird, huh?” You challenge with a coy smile.

“Ride on my left, will ya? I can’t hear what you’re sayin’ to me when ya mumble under ya breath.” Joel replies and you take up position on his left side.

“Jesus, you’re getting old.” You smirk again.

“Crept up on me too fast.” Joel agrees with a sharper frown. His hips jut forward and backwards, balancing his weight on the stallion as you both ride on.

“I was joking.” You snicker.

“I wasn’t.” He states rather po-faced. “Besides, gun shots. Not age,” he explains pointing to his right ear.

“And the scar?” You query gently. You’d noticed it on his temple; a faded, spiky flower in stark contrast compared to the caramel tan of his face.

“S’a story for another day,” he announces, flatly. His voice is as rigid as his posture now becomes.

But he didn’t need to tell you, not really. You already know what it is.

You recognised it because there had been a moment when you’d wanted to make it all stop too. You have your own scar hidden away under your sleeve which you now tug around your wrist discreetly.

You hadn’t met anyone yet without a story like that, not really. You swallow thickly, pushing down your own painful memories and carrying on.

Endure and survive.

"I'd ask ya how you've been, but y'know…" Joel mumbles a little while later.

"You can ask me," you smile.

Joel sighs, his face remaining a harsh angle of lines. "How've you been?"

"Joel, what a stupid question." You smirk and he sighs, shaking his head. Like he knew you would say that.

Like he knew you once well enough to know you'd say something like that.

"Still a smartass." You think you hear him mutter.

You shrug. "I've been… better. I think we all have, right?"

He nods slowly as the horses clip-clop along languidly, side by side. You don't say anything else. Everything seems futile and pointless.

A little while up the way, Joel's horse starts to bray and resist.

"Easy," he ushers to it, but glances up ahead as yours does the same, to see a shadow on the abandoned route.

"Infected." You confirm. You skin stands on edge.

"I got it," Joel's already dismounting and drawing his rifle around his front as you reach for his horse's reins and shush it gently.

"You need a hand?" You call.

"I said, I got it." He growls back as he walks forward taking aim.

The infected spots him and starts to run. Joel fires, but misses.

"Shit," he grunts as he takes aim again.

He misses once more, fingers shaky on the trigger as he glances down the length of the barrel to the rabid screeching coming closer.

"Are you sure you don't want help?" You tease. "Quit dancing and shoot it already."

"M'fine! Stop talkin'!" He calls back as his lips curl over his teeth. He shakes the irritation off, closes his eyes and then takes aim once more.

The infected falls to the ground before he can press on the trigger; the loud pop from behind startles him.

He turns to see you now stood a few steps back with the smoking barrel of your Glock at arm's length, and a wily smirk cocked at him.

"Best shooter in Jackson, huh?" You tease him.

"I said, I got it!" He bites at you, storming back to his horse.

"Mmhm," you simply reply, trying not to laugh, but the murderous look clouding his features warns you off. "Just took the shot," you shrug.

But his glare burns you out from the inside.

"Didn't need ya interferin'. Been doin' just fine all this time without ya!" Joel bites.

He mounts and rides away furiously, leaving you to dissolve completely away under the acid of his snarls.

Fuck.

Time rides with you both and you don’t talk.

Just an uncomfortable, suffocating silence that grows bigger, expands wider like a chasm. It hovers around you pushing against your skull.

You want to fill it with something, anything. But words don’t come.

Everything you want to say sounds stupid, futile even. You wish you knew a good joke to break the ice, but don’t. He probably wouldn't laugh anyway.

Lips pursed, teeth gnashing, Joel stares icily ahead. A unbroken and insurmountable presence beside you that seems unconquerable.

But then after a while, when it’s been almost an hour since he last spoke to you, or acknowledged your existence, still clearly sulking, you decide to be brave.

Or stupid.

“Do you… remember?" You begin keeping your eyes on the route ahead.

"'Member what?" He mutters.

"Us. What we were like back then?” You ask tentatively.

Stirring up the ghosts of your past probably isn’t a wise idea, but faced with the prospect of being cooped up with Joel for the next five days, as daunting as it is, is a chance to say some things that are so unspoken.

Even if they would re-open wounds long sealed shut.

Joel sighs and it's a long one. It feels heavy, even to listen to it. It pulls you under, face first and holds you down, ensuring that you won't ever resurface as your lungs fill with swamp water.

"Let's not talk 'bout that. Just get to the outpost."

"Fine." You say despondently.

Evidently, he's still mad at you for taking the shot. Some primal pride of his was wounded no doubt, but equally you're hurt that he probably thinks you're too gung ho.

And you probably are; gotta get them first before they get you, right? It's the embedded mantra on how you've survived for so long, and what makes you a good shot - you've had plenty of practice.

But then, you always were impulsive to some degree. Slapdash. Making decisions before you'd really thought through any consequence. Even the ones that still haunt your blood now.

You run your tongue around your teeth and reach for the water bottle tucked in the knapsack.

"You thirsty?" You ask him as you offer it out to him and he shakes his head vehemently. Again you sigh.

"I'm sorry, okay? I saw a chance and I took it."

"Stop talkin'." Joel grunts.

You shrink back, falling a few paces behind as he rides on forward, determined and with a tension that winds his broad shoulders tight, hunched.

You stare at his back, zoning out for a few minutes, your mind wandering in territories that it's not welcome in. Remembering, unwillingly, as you'd nuzzle into his back after he'd had a hard day at work; his hands blistered and sore.

How you'd wrangle the tension and knots out of those shoulders, and he'd throw his head back so you could get to his scalp. Weaving and raking your fingers across his head and listening to all the sounds he'd emit, the low groans and the throaty gasps as he melted under you.

Mmm, just like that, darlin'. Yeah...

Joel would melt like hot butter poured in your lap.

"Wait here," he says, snapping you out of your recall. He dismounts and you see him wander off the path.

You take the reins of his horse, trekking up beside it. "Where are you going?"

He doesn't answer. You watch him disappear off the road, bleeding into a small copse of trees until his shadow disappears fully out of sight.

Sighing, you look up to the sky, thinking that being paired up with Joel was probably the worst idea.

These five days are going to be absolute Hell.

He returns a few minutes later, wiping his hands at the back of his jeans and stepping through the underbrush with eyes focused like a laser beam on the ground.

You both carry on, with your mouth zipped firmly shut.

But Joel can hear your forced silence like it's deafening his one good ear. Feel you, like you're jabbing him constantly in the gut.

And he can't turn it off.

The same as he can't turn off those hazy, sepia memories rearing their ugly heads as they flood through his aching muscles, feeding them with pink fleshy life.

You've polluted him again, ripped a hole in his head, and he's forced to confront it, even if every compulsion in his body wills him to just ride away from you.

Because it's better than the alternative that pulls at his longing curiosity. Better than letting you seep in through the tiny, hairline cracks.

“Y'were fast." He says suddenly and you glance at him. He keeps his eyes on the road ahead as you continue to trot along together.

"Everythin’ was so fuckin’ fast with ya. I couldn’t keep up."

You smile; a supernova bursting inside your chest and rendering your vital organs to dust.

"Y'were right to leave me behind.” He concludes bitterly.

You feel relieved that he does remember you. It makes that weight in your stomach feel lighter somehow. But the end of his sentence adds salt into the weeping wounds.

“I wanted the world.” You muse. At one point, you believed you would conquer it. You failed.

“How’s that workin’ out for ya?” He side-eyes you with warm mocha browns that you want to dive head first into.

“I mean, the world is still here. Just looks different now.” You say, glancing down at dandelions and overgrown shrubs that are slowly taking back the path.

“You’ve not slowed down.” He observes. "Still fuckin' impatient." He rolls his eyes and shakes his head again.

“Old habits die hard, I guess.” You reply.

"You’re different.”

You look at him as he looks back at you, studying you carefully.

"I've gotten old too." You smile.

“No. Not that." Joel says, looking away. "You’re exactly the same as I ‘member, but just...”

“You remember me, huh?” Your breath catches in the back of your throat.

“Ya kinda made it impossible to forget ya, darlin’."

The warmth engulfs you and you smile wider at this, cheeks on fire, remembering the whimsy in the pet name that he always used for you. Remembering how it made you feel all that time ago, and how it still makes your chest flutter even now as it rolls off his lips like the decades haven't existed between you.

How he can carelessly toss affection at you, despite everything.

“You were never mine, back then. Not really." You say flippantly.

"No, I was." Joel corrects as he clears his throat and frowns again. "But we were young n’ stupid.” He surmises with a shrug of his own. He keeps his eyes in front still.

You nod in agreement. “We thought we knew a thing or two about love, didn’t we? We were arrogant. But it still broke my heart to lose you back then, Joel.” You admit, your voice is a strangled whisper, barely surviving.

Your fingers relax a little on the reins, realising you’ve been twisting them this whole time tightly and your palms burn. "I'm sorry. That must sound weird after all this time. After everything…"

You trail off when Joel doesn't speak.

The two of you continue along like the last few minutes of conversation hasn't happened. Both mulling it over quietly. Probably regretting it.

Joel knows he has said too much, and he's frantically wishing he could cram the words back into his mouth and swallow them down again. But he can't. And neither can you. The admissions are out there now, battering you both around the skulls.

"What was it like for ya?" He asks tentatively. "When it happened?"

"The outbreak?" You query.

"Yeah."

"Tough." You reply, willing your mind not to relive it, but it does anyway just to spite you. "I was in Waco, visiting mom. Didn't plan on staying too long, but I got a call. She'd passed before I got back though. Dementia."

"M'sorry."

"No it's… it was better that she went that way, considering. Peaceful... I was packing back up to leave a few days later. And then it all went to shit. It happened so damn fast. I barely got out."

Joel's question pulls it all out of you with dripping, red threads.

You swallow hard and you feel it graze. "When I think about it now, it's like… I'm watching someone else. Someone with my face. Someone who did-" You take in a deep breath, catching at the back of your throat before you swallow it down. "-Someone who did some questionable things to get here, to get to today."

Joel nods, but doesn't add his own recall of that day. From the look on his face you decide not to ask him about it either.

"But I remember what it was like before that. Life. What it could be again someday." You shake your head despondently. "I remember you." You say with a thin smile offered in repentance.

“We were together n’ sometimes I forget the rest of it.” Joel mutters.

You feel that heated warmth creep over your cheeks and nose. “Me too.”

A small, tight smile tugs at the corner of his pale pink lips. “Y'could barely stand me in the end.”

“Eh. I can barely stand you now.” You remark with a grin.

He shakes his head, chuckling inward silently. “Don’t matter. You’re here. Y'made it. I always knew ya had some brass cajones.”

Joel glances you from the side, turning his head slightly. Those lips of his stretched a little further, on the verge of a full beam which he keeps restrained from fully breaking free.

“Bigger than yours."

He scoffs.

"You made it, too. But, you’re stuck with me for the next five days, Joel.” You tease.

The smile dips back into his cheeks, a crescent moon dimple forms on the left side. “I think I’ll manage. I've endured far worse.”

You smile and continue to ride beside him. Those hot prickles on your neck are covering your whole body now.

“S’fuckin’ crazy world, right?" He mumbles it, sharpshooting the words into the wind as they circle back and blow in your face.

"Amen to that." You smile and you see the flash of that crooked smirk you remember widening on the side of his mouth as he finally loses all restraint to keep it at bay.

There he is.

“Should be there soon,” Joel announces a few hours later.

The grasses are longer, more unruly and nature has taken back the land fully here it seems.

It's eerily beautiful and your eyes fall onto all the wild flowers swaying in the breeze and getting tangled in the brambles; the scents of them tickling your nose.

You lower your hand through them as the mare crosses through the grasses. Plucking one or two on your way and bringing the petals to your nose to inhale before letting them fall free again. You plant some of them affectionately in the mare's silken mane, enthused in your handiwork.

“Y'always did like flowers,” Joel says, remembering.

He remembers the bunches he would pick for you each week just because they were pretty and reminded him of you; the pink expensive ones he brought on your birthday and you cooed gratefully, planting smackers over his cheeks enthusiastically.

You throw a soft beam back at him, remembering too.

You travel on the back roads, deserted highways where the forests have encroached over the tarmac fully. Places where the past ills of humanity have been eaten up by Mother Nature and regurgitated into something wildly free and lushly green.

Perhaps the way it was always supposed to have been.

Your journey has remained free of anymore roaming infected. But you’re keeping a furtive look out; scanning the tree lines beside you as you both ride along in some more stoic silence.

But it seems less daunting and sharp now.

You stop for a while to eat, to let the horses rest. Joel picks around a couple of burnt out cars on the road as he keeps busy and refuses to be still. A constant hurricane swirling.

But Joel surprises you, a little later, speaking more freely when you probe gently about his life prior to Jackson. Thinking he would shut you down, yet he tells you about Ellie. Mostly about Ellie.

Very briefly and with no detail about someone he knew for a long time called Tess, with a gritted jaw that doesn't unclench, so you ask no further about it. He tells you nothing detailed, and strangely in not so many words.

But you sense she meant more to him that he reveals. The way his eyes mist over, as he dwells alone in the darkness of his thoughts, pulls at your gut.

He never mentions that night; the outbreak. Never mentions Sarah. And you don’t bring her up either, even though you know more than you think he'd want you to.

It feels intrusive somehow, holding this terrible secret over him, even if he's not aware of it's strength that you unwittingly possess. A part of you resents Tommy for filling you in so dutifully.

Ignorance is bliss, after all.

“Where's Ellie now? Sounds like you two have quite the bond.” You ask as you eat with your legs drawn under yourself.

“She has a girlfriend. Can’t keep her in one place for long these days. She visits. S’not far from Jackson, in another place they've set up. Think I was startin’ to cramp her style.” The frown returns. “She should have her independence… A normal life.” Joel explains, although you can see it pains him in some way to be apart from her, as his brow furrows further until it swallows most of his face.

“Nothing is normal anymore, Joel.”

“Y’know what I mean.” He lances a stare at you, like you're immature and don’t know shit about this world, just like Ellie doesn’t. And in some ways he’s probably right about that.

“Young love, huh?” You surmise, wistfully.

“S'kinda beautiful.” He says, recalling a private memory as he stares off into the distance.

You secretly hope that it’s one of you both together, wondering which one he would pick as his favourite. Yours is when he first told you he loved you; his sweaty face above yours after an intense mutual climax, and he just blurted it out into your face, and inside of his deep brown eyes, you knew he meant it.

He told you again in the morning over breakfast. And when he dropped you off home in his beat up car.

And everyday after that, until he stopped.

“What about you, have you met anyone special in Jackson?” You pry on with numbing fingers through the dirt.

Joels snorts rather pugnaciously. “No. S'’better that way.”

He finally approaches and sits on the ground adjacent to you but keeps a subtle distance; you hear his knees creak.

“What ‘bout you? You n’ Kelper… Y’have some history or present?” Joel asks curiously after a while.

He can’t help himself. Not when he remembers catches you glancing forlornly as Kelper walked away with Tommy that morning, and he feels the stagnant whiskey toss around in his squally gut.

“You’re more Kelper’s type than I am.” You remark back with a wry smirk. “He likes 'em rugged.”

"Ah." Joel nods and you think you see him blush for a second.

You shake your head. “There was someone, years ago now, nothing serious, but it’s hard to hold onto something in this world when it’s constantly trying to rip you apart, right?”

Joel picks idly at the grass, wrenching blades from their roots with his gnarled, thick fingers. You watch him do it, remembering what those fingers felt like as they danced upon your skin in an era long since departed.

“D’you believe in fate?” Joel asks later as you’re both saddled back on the horses, and you're taken back by the question that is so out of character for him.

You recall a memory of you trying to convince him to have a tarot reading at a fairground, and him telling you in no uncertain terms that all that chick, crystal shit was bullshit. We make our own damn fate, darlin'.

You smile, as you can hear him now, echoing somewhere in the back of your head.

You ponder for a second and realise that in this world, a world that has taken so much, that fate and destiny still weave their magic realism through the murk and rot.

How else can you explain finding Joel again like this?

“Yeah. I do. Explains why we've found each other again, right?”

Joel nods back. “Would have found ya regardless.”

“What makes you so sure of that?” You scoff.

“‘Cause, you’re not somethin’ that's so easy to lose.” Joel states, carelessly throwing words at you again. “Broke my heart back then too.”

You stop riding as it sucker-punches you.

The mare slows down as you pull on the reins, and it takes him a few trots to realise you’re not following before he stops and turns back to you on his stallion with a blank face.

“I looked you up, you know?” You admit with watery eyes.

“Y'did?” He baulks.

“Yeah. Heard you’d relocated back to Austin. I drove for hours to your house one day. I… I wanted to knock on your door so fucking badly. Beg you to take me back. Tell you that you were right. That I was an idiot. But I couldn’t.”

You recall it in all its vivid, scaly form; gripping the steering wheel so tightly at the time, amping yourself up to knock and tell him you were an idiot, that you didn’t want the world if he wasn’t in it exploring it with you.

It had been a while since you’d walked away from him. Calling him immature, indecisive and holding you back. But seven years later and you were the one crawling back, trying to plug that gaping hole where you’d pushed him out of your life, and for what? Everything you’d left him for hadn’t been worth it.

It was all hollow somehow without him.

Your eyes focused on the muscular body that came out of the house that day. A late-twenties, early thirties-something Joel, with darker facial hair; a more stockier build. He'd filled out in all the right places. You'd reached for your car door latch with your blood thumping in your ears.

And then a small girl, with wild curls, followed out after him. Dancing around his legs with a lilac backpack as he loaded her up in the car after terrorising her with smooches as she squirmed away giggling.

Her laughter still haunts your blood.

Your heart had sank, drowning in your stomach acids and being burned up by them until there was nothing of it left. Joel was a father now and you couldn’t intrude on that.

How could you dare to try to invade his settled life and expect him to put you first? You were so fucking selfish.

You drove away that day, vowing not to look back as hot tears seared your cheeks as they fell in abundance. To let yourself move on. But you never really did. He was the one who got away.

Correction; the one who you stupidly let go of.

Joel’s mouth dips. “Wasn’t the right time.”

“No, it wasn’t. We had our time.” You tap the mare lightly with your heel and she trots forward. You wipe your eyes. discreetly, refusing to let him see. He can't know how it tore you to shreds to see that he’d moved on and was happy without you.

But it was your own doing.

“Maybe I should’ve fought harder to keep ya around. Perhaps if I had, things would've been different…” You hear Joel surmise into the air.

You shake your head. “No, the world was always going to end, Joel.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he gruffs.

“I know.” It’s bittersweet, but you know. Even if it lacerates you and leaves you bleeding, dying.

“But y’were happy, ya had a happy life, before all this?” He queries. Something shines inside his own eyes, something hopeful.

“As happy as it could be.” You confirm. You recall pockets of feeling content for a short time. But it never lasted. No-one could replace him, not really.

“Good. Y'deserved that.” Joel says.

“So did you.”

He was the one that you’d let slip away whilst you chased your own idle, selfish dreams. The one who haunted you throughout life. Where was he? What was he doing? Was he happy wherever he was?

Did he miss you like you missed him?

Joel Miller would have given you the world that you were so desperate for, but you never gave him the chance to. It only pained you now that it was too late. So much time and energy wasted for too long, and for what?

Now Joel was just another rupture in your life, a clot that would be your ultimate undoing.

He carries on trotting as do you, riding beside him as his broad shoulders obscure the sun that’s blinding you and suddenly burning you up, eviscerating your being.

“Fate knew somethin’ we didn't.” Joel mumbles.

You don’t say anything else.

You just ride, feeling more and more empty, as you and Joel both carry on forward in a silent agreement that fate, is indeed, a fucking cruel sadist.

To be continued...

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